A Day in the Limelight
by Ian Otter
Summary: Spartans. They were the apex of human evolution. Their accomplishments were the stuff of legends. Yet, all together, they barely made up a single percentage of the UNSC military. So, what about the other 99.99%? What were they up to? This fic attempts to explore the struggles that the other, not so special people may had to face.
1. Chapter 1: Rookie

**Author's Note: So I came up with the concept of this story a couple of weeks ago when I was replaying the single player campaign for Halo: Reach. I was thinking to myself "Gee, we really don't hear much about the UNSC Army." Then I thought, "Gee, forget the Army, we don't hear much about the UNSC Air Force." That led to "Gee, we really don't hear much about the rear echelon support personnel." So I thought, "Why don't I write one?" So here's my attempt to depict some parts of the UNSC that isn't really shown in the games.**

**Couple of quick points I'd like to bring to people's attention:**

**Story takes place in 2549, so three years before the Battle of Reach (as according to Halopedia.)**

**Almost all of my information pertaining to the Halo Universe I've gotten from .**

**All characters are Original Characters. Might be a cameo from one of the cannon characters, I don't know yet.**

**Most of the chapters will take place in the viewpoint of a different character.**

**I am not/was not in any military so if I get some details wrong, I do apologize. Not trying to offend anyone.**

**Thanks for stopping by, I do hope you enjoy.**

* * *

**Rookie**

The UNSC Navy D77-TC "Pelican" dropship shook and groaned violently as it descended through the planet's atmosphere causing Private John "Marcus" Olsen to shift uncomfortably in his Army issued body armor as he looked up in alarm, convinced the Pelican was moments away from shaking itself apart. He glanced around the cargo bay at the other occupants but no one else seemed too concerned so Marcus tried counting up to ten in an effort to calm himself down. It didn't really work.

The Marine sitting next to him shifted suddenly and Marcus jumped, startled by the unexpected movement. The Marine glanced at him and scoffed.

"Fucking Boot," the man said scornfully. "We haven't even touched the fucking ground yet and he's about ready to piss his pants." He elbowed the man sitting on the other side of him. "Hey Steiner, how long do you think this Boot is going to last?"

Steiner leaned around him to look at Marcus. "Hell. Look at those soft hands. I'd be surprised if he makes it off the Pelican without breaking a fucking nail."

Marcus felt his face red with embarrassment as the other passengers in the Pelican burst out laughing. He opened his mouth, trying to think of something witty to say or at least something to shut the Marine up but words failed him and he closed his mouth with an audible click. The man sitting directly across from Marcus however, looked up from the data pad he was reading.

"Hey y'all, shut the fuck up and leaving the rookie alone," the man barked.

The Marine next to Marcus snarled and lifted his head to retort but caught sight of the Combat Medic Badge pinned to the man's Army BDUs. The Marine shrugged. "You got it doc," was all he said before turning away.

The Army Medic glared at the Marine before nodding in satisfaction and turning back to his data pad. Marcus looked at the Medic with a grateful look on his face.

"Thank you sir," he started to say before the Medic look up at him, glaring.

"Hey Rookie!" the Medic barked. "Did I fucking give you permission to talk to me?"

Startled, all Marcus could do was shake his head.

"Then shut your fucking gob and don't fucking look at me with those fag eyes," the Medic bellowed. He waited until Marcus looked away before returning to his data pad.

"Fucking cherries are all the fucking same. Fucking talk too much, and don't fucking listen," Marcus heard the man mutter and all Marcus could do was hang in head in embarrassment.

Rookie. Cherry. Boot. Fresh Meat. Greenhorn. Different terms with all the same meaning. And all thrown in his direction as an insult. It had been like that since Marcus left Reach three weeks ago. Marcus understood the insults. He really did. He was the newbie. The fucking new guy. Nobody like getting saddled with the new guy.

But at the same time, it wasn't like it was his fault. Marcus didn't ask to be the novice, the unexperienced virgin. He didn't ask the Army to take him, barely a week after he'd graduated from combat engineering OSUT, and throw him aboard an Air Force aircraft carrier to be shipped directly to the front lines. He didn't want any of that. And he didn't really get it either. Everyone who kept insulting him, everyone who kept looking down on him, they were all the FNGs at one point in their careers, right? Even the Spartan's had to start somewhere, right? It's not like they were breed for war after all. So, shouldn't they know how Marcus was feeling right now? Much like he'd been tossed in the deep end of the pool without a lifeguard in sight? But the last thing Marcus wanted was for people to consider him a whiny brat so Marcus kept his mouth shut, head down, and took the insults and contempt without complaint.

The Pelican shook again, distracting Marcus from his thoughts. At the end of the Pelican, the Navy crew chief stood up.

"Thirty seconds 'til we touch down!" he yelled.

All around him, the Pelican's passengers began stowing items in preparation for the landing and Marcus quickly followed suit. He didn't have much, only whatever the Army issued to him which was stashed in a duffle bag. The only personal item Marcus had was a picture of his family, but that was secure in his back pocket so Marcus settled for making sure his duffle bag was secure underneath his seat.

The noise from the Pelican's engines increased in pitch and Marcus felt his stomach churn as he felt the Pelican dropping through the sky. He clenched his fist, trying to prevent himself from throwing up over himself. He had never like flying and interplanetary travel was always the worst.

Fortunately, the effects didn't last long. With a bump, Marcus felt the Pelican touch the ground and the whine of the engines that had filled his ears for the last thirty minutes finally disappeared. With a hiss of pneumatics, the ramp at the back of the Pelican opened and all around him, the occupants began unbuckling their safety harnesses and headed out into the sunlight. Marcus waited until the Steiner and his buddy, as well as the Army Medic walked out, before unbuckling his restraints. Or at least, he tried.

With a start, Marcus realized he actually had no idea how to undo his restraints. When he had first boarded the Pelican, there had been no instructions as how to wear the safety harness so Marcus had waited until everyone else had strapped themselves in so he could watch them. But during the course of the trip, he had forgotten about that little detail and failed to pay attention as everyone had taken it off. He studied the buckle, as if it would magically inform him how to release himself, but as the Pelican quickly emptied, Marcus settled for tugging on the straps. For obvious reasons, this failed to work.

"What the fuck is wrong with you asshole?"

Marcus looked up to see the crew chief marching over to him, face red with anger.

"What, you think you can stay here?" the crew chief demanded. "You fuckers have already stunk up my Pelican. GET THE FUCK OUT!"

"I don't know how to undo my restraints," Marcus admitted helplessly.

"Christ almighty, I didn't realize the Army was recruiting retards now," the crew chief said with a sigh before reaching out and grabbing hold of the buckle all the straps were feeding into. He twisted the metal disc and then punched it so hard, Marcus swore he could feel a bruise forming on his chest. But fortunately, the straps sprung lose and Marcus was finally free.

"Get the fuck off my Pelican, NOW!" the crew chief roared into Marcus' face, coating it with spit and Marcus hastily grabbed his duffle bag and sprinted down the ramp. He had barely cleared the Pelican when the ramp slammed shut with a loud _clank_ and the Pelican's engines started up again. With one hand holding his duffle bag and the other holding on to his patrol cap, Marcus dashed across the open landing pad as the Pelican shot straight up into the sky before it was a safe distance away from the ground and the people below. Marcus watched as the Pelican's nose angled upwards before its engines flared, heading for high orbit.

Safe for the moment at the edge of the landing pad, Marcus decided to take a moment to look around. He didn't know much about the planet he'd been deployed to; hell, he didn't even know the planet's name. What he did know though was that the Covenant had attacked three months ago and for whatever reason, they had decided to deploy ground forces instead of just glassing the colony from orbit, as per their standard MO. UNSC Command had seize the opportunity to confront the Covenant on open ground, so to speak, and sent in an entire Army Group, backed by an entire Marine Expeditionary Force, an Air Force Carrier Strike Group, a Navy Task Force, and whatever forces were on the planet to begin with, to take back the planet. From Marcus understood, there had been non-stop fighting ever since then.

And it showed. To begin with, the landing pad was massive. If Marcus had to guess, two Navy _Stalwart_-class light frigates could land on the landing pad and there'd still be room for some Longswords. For now though, a wide variety of aircraft were coming and going from the pad, ranging from Army UH-144 "Falcons" to Navy Pelicans, and Marcus could even see three Air Force AC-220 "Vulture" gunships in the distance. Surrounding the landing pad in all directions were olive green pre-fabricated shelters of all different shapes and sizes. Walking between the shelters were military personal from all four services. In the very far distance, maybe fifty kilometers away, Marcus could see heavy damaged skyscrapers leading to an equally damaged city. Just below the roar of incoming and outgoing ships, Marcus could just barely make out the sound of thunder in the distance, which he concluded probably wasn't thunder but artillery. The thing that struck Marcus most was just the fact everywhere he looked, everything just looked rather… used. He couldn't really describe it but even to his inexperienced eyes, he could tell this landing pad and base had been paid for in full with blood.

Marcus gulped nervously at that thought before steeling himself. The Army might not have told him much about this planet he'd been deployed to, but they did at least tell him where to report in. Reaching into his pocket, Marcus dug out a small holographic project containing his transfer papers and activated it. He was supposed to report to the 4th Platoon, K Company, 223rd Combat Engineer Battalion of the 97th Mechanized Infantry Division. The hologram helpfully provided a picture of the division's shoulder sleeve insignia, which was a double headed hammerhead shark. That should have been easy enough to locate but as Marcus looked around at the army personnel scattered across the landing pad, he realized none of them were wearing that patch.

Marcus sighed. Great, that meant he had to ask someone for directions and fit the stereotype of a clueless rookie even more. He supposed there wasn't much else he could do and he didn't want to be declared AWOL on his very first day on the front line so he gritted his teeth and headed to the nearest person wearing an Army uniform.

The man's back was turned to him to Marcus approached but the man didn't seem to be busy so Marcus cleared his throat. The man didn't react to his presence. Marcus cleared his throat again. The man shifted his weight from one foot to the other but still didn't react. Marcus sighed.

"Excuse me sir?" Marcus called out, tapping the man on the shoulder. "I was hoping you could help me."

The man whirled around and Marcus instantly realized he made a mistake.

"**Sir?**" the soldier, who was most definitely a _woman_ hissed. "Motherfucker, let's start with the fact that I'm a fucking woman. Second, you see these fucking chevrons?" She jabbed a finger to the rank insignia sew in the center of her chest. "It means I'm a corporal in the fucking UNSC Army. That means you don't call me sir, because I actually have to work for a living! Now fuck off before my CO comes by and thinks I'm slacking off!"

"CORPORAL PENDANSKI!"

"Shit," the corporal hissed before snapping to attention as another soldier wearing the insignia of a 2nd Lieutenant came marching up.

"Corporal, the army does not pay you to sit on your ass all day," the Lieutenant said. "Get these cans of ammo in the Warthog, now!"

"Sorry sir," Pendanski said hastily, picking up a box of fifty caliber rounds. "This guy was distracting me." She jerked her head in Marcus' direction and as the Lieutenant whirled on Marcus, quickly made her escape.

"Who the fuck do you think you are, coming here and distracting my soldiers?" the Lieutenant yelled, jabbing a finger at Marcus' chest. "Get with the program soldier, there's a fucking war going on, don't you know? I need my guys at one hundred percent and the last thing I need is for you to come here and distract them from their task!"

Marcus could feel sweating forming on the back of his neck. "Sir, sorry sir!" he yelled at the top of his lungs, like he was addressing his drill sergeants back in basic. Evidently it was the right thing to do as the Lieutenant nodded in approval and started to walk away.

"Uh sir?" Marcus called out tentatively. The Lieutenant looked back at him. "Uh, I was hoping you could help me sir. I'm looking for the 223rd CEB of the 97th MI Division." "Sir," Marcus added.

The Lieutenant sighed. "Are you illiterate soldier?"

Marcus started. "I'm sorry sir?"

The Lieutenant sighed again and pointed at something over Marcus' shoulder. He turned around. Right behind him, a sign post had been set up. Arrows were pointing in all directions and on one of them, in big black letters, the words "223rd Combat Engineer Battalion" were written.

Feeling sheepish, Marcus turned around to thank the Lieutenant for his help, only realize the Lieutenant had already walked away.

"Not a good start Marcus," Marcus told himself. Strapping his duffle bag onto his back, he followed the signs until he reached a tent that had the words 'K Company, 223rd CEB' stenciled on the side. He pulled out his transfer papers and glanced at them, checking to make sure he was indeed at the tent to the right unit. Confirming that he was, Marcus looked around, wondering who he was supposed to report to. All the tents looked exactly the same and there wasn't one say "check-in here" or some variation, but outside one of the tents, there were three soldiers dressed in their battle gear, loading some magazines.

Hoping these soldiers would be nicer than everyone else he'd encountered so far today, Marcus walked over to them. This time he made sure to check their rank insignia and their genders.

"Excuse me sergeants?" Marcus called out, noting the three chevron insignias of an Army sergeant stenciled on their armor. "I'm looking for," Marcus checked his transfer papers again, "4th Platoon, K Company, 223rd CEB? Could you tell me which tent they're billeted in?"

The nearest of the three soldiers looked up at him. "The fuck do you care?"

Marcus mentally sighed. "Uh, I was just assigned to that unit," he replied irritably.

"What?" the same sergeant stated while the other two sergeants looked up, disbelief written on their faces. "Let me see your transfer papers."

Marcus handed over the holographic tab and watched as the sergeant skimmed through the document with the other two soldiers reading over his shoulder.

"Are you fucking kidding me?" the first soldier demanded to know as soon as he finished reading the document. "We're hours away from moving onto the front line and command decides to give us a snot nosed brat to babysit? Who the fuck the retard running this campaign?"

Marcus was getting tired of people insulting him. "Well that's where I'm supposed to be Sergeant," Marcus retorted, somewhat heatedly.

"Rookie, shut your fucking mouth before I blow it off," the sergeant warned, lifting his (fully loaded) MA37 assault rifle for emphasis. Marcus quickly subsided.

"Well, I guess we better figure out which squad he's getting assigned to," the lead soldier said, looking back at his two companions.

"Not it!" both instantly said.

"What? Come on guys!"

"Dude, Fish, I got the last rookie," one of the soldiers retorted.

"Oh come on, that was hardly a rookie," Fish protested. "He had at least had some combat experience."

"He was a fucking Innie! His 'experience' came from fighting UNSC forces!"

"It's still better than a fucking rookie!"

"Come on Fish," the third soldier said, placing hand on Fish's shoulder. "Koupaki's got a point. He did get the last rookie."

Fish glared at the man. "Why don't you take him Roer?"

The third soldier, Roer, shrugged. "You know I've got my own rookies to deal with."

"Are you kidding me? Your 'rookies' were on the front line for over a week! Everybody knows if you survive one week on the front line, you're no longer a rookie."

Koupaki threw his hands in the air. "Look dude, if you really don't want him, we'll send him to Moss' squad, let him deal with this cherry."

Fish's face contorted with anger. "No, fuck that. Moss has got enough issues on his plate as it. He doesn't need to deal with a rookie who doesn't know which end of the rifle to hold." Fish let out a huff. "Alright you assholes, you win. I'll fucking take him."

Fish turned back to Marcus, who had been standing patiently, waiting for their argument to conclude. "I'm in charge of 2nd Squad. Our tent is right there. Go find a place to throw your shit, but don't get too comfortable. As soon as the Warthogs get here, we're moving out."

Marcus nodded. "Understood Sergeant," he said in what he hoped was a professional voice. It clearly wasn't as Fish snorted before turning his attention back to loading his rifle magazines. Marcus recognized he'd been dismissed but waited there nonetheless.

"What are you still standing around for rookie?" Fish demanded to know, once he notice Marcus was still there.

"Uh, I was wondering what I should call you Sergeant?"

"You can call me God for all I care," Fish replied. "But my name is Sergeant Julian Perez. There here is Sergeant Kosa Koupaki of 3rd Squad and Sergeant Cliff Roer, Machine Gun Squad."

Marcus nodded in greeting. "Well, I'm…"

"Rookie," Koupaki interrupted. "No one gives a shit what your name is. You are officially now known as Rookie. If you survived a week against the Covenant, then you get a name."

"In the meantime," Roer spoke up. "Do everybody a favor, keep your mouth shut, and your ears open. Got it?"

"Yes…" Marcus started to say.

"What the fuck did I just say?" Roer demanded. "Shit, he can't even follow basic instructions? Covies are going to eat him alive."

"When he gets killed, I call dibs on his knee pads," Koupaki stated.

"Dude, I am telling you, you need to go buy your own," Fish told him. "The shit the Army provides doesn't last."

"With such a large budget, you think the Army would at least provide us with the good stuff," Roer mused.

Koupaki snorted. "Are you kidding me? Then the generals wouldn't be able to afford another medal!"

All three of them burst out laughing when Fish noticed Marcus still standing there. "You can leave, by the way," Fish told him. "In fact, consider that an order. You're interrupting our last moment of peace around here."

Marcus sighed as he picked his duffle bag off the ground and headed in the direction of the tent Fish had indicated. So much for a nicer reception. He supposed he only had himself to blame; there had been nothing to indicate there was anyone but assholes on this base. Stopping outside the tent, Marcus braced himself for a frosty reception before pushing aside the entrance flap and walking inside. He promptly froze at the sight that greeted him.

The tent was arranged in a barracks-style arrangement, with single bunks lining both sides of the tent. A number of soldiers, seven in total and all dressed in battle gear, were lounging around. What caught Marcus' attention though, was a half-naked woman lying on her back in the middle of the tent while a man sat next to her, working on a tattoo on her stomach. All occupants in the tent looked up at him as he entered and Marcus felt his cheeks involuntarily redden, though he wasn't sure if he was embarrassed by naked woman or the fact everyone was staring at him like he was a disguised member of the Covenant.

"Buddy, I think you're in the wrong tent," the soldier lounging on the bunk nearest the entrance reading a comic book finally said. "The brownie scouts are billeted nine tents in the other direction."

Marcus sighed as the room broke out in laughter. "I just transferred," Marcus said before anyone else could throw any more insults in his direction. "I just talked to Sergeant Perez, he told me to come here."

The tattoo artist looked dismayed. "They sent us a…"

"Yes I know," Marcus interrupted tiredly. What it serious too much to ask to be treated like a person? "I'm the Rookie. I'm sorry but I'm just doing what I was told to do."

The room feel silent as the woman getting tattooed calm climbed to her feet and marched over to Marcus. Marcus shuffled nervously as he realized the woman was easily twice his size.

"Boy," the woman said softly. "You better watch your tone. The people here are far better men than you will ever be. You treat them with respect, you hear?"

Marcus wanted to point out that respect went both ways but he found all he could do was nodded his head in agreement. There was a tense moment of silence before the woman broken out in a smile.

"I'm just fucking with you," she said with a laugh before returning to her original spot. Marcus stood there, confused, as everyone else returned to whatever they had been doing before his arrival. After a full minute of him standing there awkwardly, the comic book soldier finally looked up at him.

"Rookie, find a place to sit down, you're making me nervous."

Marcus nodded and walked over to the nearest, unoccupied bunk. He dropped his duffle bag to the ground but just as he was about to sit, a dirty rag landed on the bed. He looked up to see the tattoo artist had been the one to throw it.

"Not there," the man said. "That's my bunk."

The comic book soldier snorted. "Levi, does it fucking matter? We're about to leave."

"Griffon, I don't know about you, but I intend to survive long enough to make it back here. And when I do, that last fucking thing I want is to sleep in a bed with rookie scent all over it."

"That's fucking stupid," Griffon said, shaking his head.

"Hey Griffon! Fuck you. Go back to your comic book heroes you ass."

"Dude, I don't know how many fucking times I have to tell you. This is a fucking graphic novel, okay? Not a fucking comic book."

Levi waved his hand in dismissal. "Whatever, it's all the same geeky shit."

"Says the druggie," Griffon shot back. "How many brain cells do you have left? Or did you smoke them all away?"

The woman abruptly sat upright. "Okay, you two can suck each other's dicks later, okay? In the meantime, Levi, I want you to finish my fucking tattoo before we push off."

"Fine, whatever Noren," Levi said dismissively. "But I fucking mean it Rookie," he snarled, turning back to Marcus. "Don't fucking sit in my bed."

Marcus rubbed his eyes before deciding he didn't want to cause any more trouble today. Picking up his bag, he moved onto the next available bunk.

"Not there," Noren said without looking up. "That's my bunk."

Griffon threw his hands up in the air. "Really! You too?"

"Griffon, in case you haven't notice, I still need to get fucking dressed," Noren pointed out. "Which I would do if Levi would **hurried the fuck up!"**

"You can't force art like this," Levi said calmly. "You've got to let it flow."

Griffon snickered. "Don't lie Levi," he said drily. "We all know you just want to stare at Noren's tits some more. They are, after all, the only pair of breast you're ever going to see. Well, aside from your mama's titties."

Levi glared at him. "Griffon, don't you ever talk about my mama's titties. Got it?"

"Could you all just shut up and stop distracting my artist?" Noren said loudly. "Let's try that."

The entrance to the tent opened abruptly. "Alright!" Fish called out loudly. "Warthogs are here, everyone on your feet, now!"

"God dammit!" Noren swore. Fish raised an eyebrow.

"Excuse me Specialist? What was that?"

"Sorry Sergeant," Noren said. "That wasn't addressed to you. I was hoping I would have my tattoo finished before we left." The last part was said in a growl, aimed at Levi, who shrugged helplessly.

Fish in the meantime had cocked his head, studying Noren's half-finished tattoo. "Is that a zombie?" he asked her.

Marcus discretely maneuvered so he could see her tattoo, taking pains to avoid looking at her bare breast. Sure enough, it was the upper torso and head of a zombie girl that was missing half her jaw. Part of the zombie was green in color but not all of the color was in place yet.

"Yeah."

"Why a zombie?"

Griffon snorted. "Because, Sergeant, we're all dead men walking."

Noren pointed at him. "What he said Sergeant."

"Morbid, but apt, I suppose," Fish mused before growing serious. "Put on your armor Noren. Let's go people!"

Fish's gaze turned until it fell on Marcus and his lips curled up in a snarl. "That's means you Rookie!" he yelled, walking over to him and grabbing him by the front of his vest. "Move it!" Fish yelled, pushing shoving Marcus out of the tent. Off balanced, Marcus stumbled outside and ran straight into a small Asian woman carrying an M247 machine gun, almost knocking them both to the ground.

"Watch where you're going asshole!" the woman yelled, shoving Marcus off her. He tripped and landed on the ground in front of the entrance to the tent.

"Watch that first step!" Noren called out as she hefted a DMR and stepped over him.

"Sure is a doozy, ain't it?" Griffon commented as Marcus quickly rolled out of the way to avoid getting stepped on.

"No one uses the term 'doozy' anymore Griffon," Levi stated with confidence as he strolled out of the tent, a M739 light machine gun in his arms and a heavy rucksack on his back.

A shadow fell over Marcus and he looked up to see Fish looming over him. To Marcus' anger, he could see amusement dancing in Fish's eyes.

"Stop lounging around Rookie," he said. "We've got a war to fight." He turned to walk away without bothering to help Marcus up.

White hot anger surged through Marcus. "Why is everyone such an asshole?" he muttered to himself as he climbed to his feet.

"What did you just say?"

Marcus started and looked up to see Fish had stopped walking and was now staring at Marcus with murder in his eyes. Marcus involuntarily gulped.

"You think we're assholes?" Fish asked him, his voice low and menacing. He began stalking towards Marcus and behind him, Marcus see all the soldiers in the area had stopped whatever they were doing to watch the scene unfold.

"You want to know why we're being 'assholes?'" Fish demanded. Marcus suddenly regretted his words but he wasn't able to get in a word as Fish continued to speak.

"It's because we were supposed to have been taken off the line three fucking weeks ago. But apparently, taking over four hundred casualties out of a battalion of only six hundred and fifty men isn't enough for some fucked up general to get another medal. No, we've got to stay on the line so that when some fuck-nut officer goes to a gentleman's club, he won't get laughed at for not losing enough men."

By now Fish had gotten uncomfortably close to Marcus so Marcus started to slowly back up, only to run into the tent wall. But Fish kept stalking forward.

"But there aren't enough people to man the line, you say? Well that's why they send motherfuckers like you. Dumbasses who don't know which end of the rifle bullets come out of, but think they're the shit. But when shit hits the fan, the first thing you assholes do is stupid shit, shit that gets other people killed! AND I WILL NOT LET THAT HAPPEN!"

Fish leaned in close until their faces were only a breath away. "Not while I'm in charge of this squad, asshole," he hissed.

"Is there a problem here?" a quiet voice asked from behind Fish. Marcus didn't recognized the voice but evidently Fish did as Fish instantly backed off.

Marcus turned gratefully to look at whoever is was that intervened and instantly regretted it. The newcomer, quite honestly, had one of the most terrifying faces Marcus had even seen. It look as though someone, at one point, had decided to try and melt the entire left side of the man's face. Marcus could see the scars extending downwards until it was covered up by the man's collar. The man's entire left eye was no one longer in line with his right eye but that wasn't as noticeable as the fact the man was missing his left eyeball entirely, leaving behind an empty socket. As the man shifted the MA37 assault rifle in his arms, Marcus noticed the man's right hand had a different skin tone from the rest of his body and it took Marcus a few moments to realize that was because the hand was fake.

In the time Marcus had been studying the newcomer, the newcomer's remaining eye had shifted so that he was staring at Fish, waiting for an answer.

"No Sergeant Shen, no problem at all," Fish answered and Marcus was surprised to hear a tone of respect in his voice. "Just explaining to our Rookie how things work around here."

Sergeant Shen's expression didn't change (could it even? - Marcus wondered) but Marcus caught a hint of surprise when Sergeant Shen said, "We have a Rookie? Since when?"

"Transferred in almost ten minutes ago Sergeant. Came straight from OSUT." Fish stepped aside so Shen could get a good view of Marcus. Marcus instinctively straighten as Shen's eye fell upon him. Shen studied him for a moment before glancing to the side where Koupaki and Roer were standing.

"Why wasn't I told?"

Koupaki, Roer, and Fish exchanged glances. "We didn't think it was necessary to bother you with such trivial matters," Fish finally admitted.

"Gentleman, knowing whom I'm about to bring into battle, is not, and never will be, trivial." Shen shook his head. "We'll discuss this more later. In the meantime, which squad you guys assign him to?"

"My squad," Fish answered.

"Your squad?" Shen replied, incredulously. He glanced back at Koupaki and Roer. "I thought we agreed Fish would never get any of the Rookies. He scares them too much." His words sounded insulting but Marcus thought he caught a hint of humor in Shen's voice.

Marcus watched as Fish shrugged. "That's what I tried to tell them. But they wouldn't listen."

"Well, you are not taking him because we need soldiers, not placeholders." Shen looked thoughtful. "I'll take him."

Fish looked like he was going to protest but one look from Shen and he subsided. He shrugged and walked away, leaving Shen and Marcus alone. Shen headed towards Marcus and stopped right in front of him. Marcus didn't have much experiences with such high ranking soldiers and if people like Fish was cowed by him, then that didn't bold well for him. Unsure what to do, Marcus snapped to attention, like he was on the parade ground. He tried to avoid staring at Shen's damaged face, instead just stared straight ahead, like he been told to do in basic training. He was taken off guard when Shen abruptly thrust out his right hand.

"Staff Sergeant Moss Shen," he said brightly. "Welcome to 4th Platoon. I'm your new platoon sergeant. Well, okay, that's not entirely accurate. I'm acting platoon sergeant. I'm actually 1st Squad Leader but our CO was killed a week ago and we haven't received a new one since. So, as per chain of command, Sergeant First Class Ferguson is acting platoon leader and I'm now acting platoon sergeant."

Marcus couldn't help but stare at Shen dumbly. He saw Shen roll his eye and lower his hand. "You got a name soldier?"

"Uh…" Marcus hesitated. Did Shen really want his name or his new "nickname?" Shen seemed to understand his confusion because he clarified.

"What's your actual name?"

"Private Olsen, John M." Marcus barked. "Sir!" he added.

Shen frowned. "Okay then Private Olsen, John M. I see your Drill Sergeant's didn't bother teaching you the protocols regarding the usage of the term 'sir.'"

"Sir?" Marcus asked, confused.

Shen shook his head. "You don't call sergeants 'sir.' Sir is reserved for warrant officers and commissioned officers. Which means if you see anyone between the ranks of Warrant Officer One to General, you call them 'sir.' Or 'ma'am' if they're a woman. Non-commissioned officers on the other hand, you call them by their rank. So, for example, you call me Staff Sergeant, Sergeant, Sar'nt, or if in a pinch, Moss. Whatever you do though, don't call me 'Sarge.' Makes me feel like I'm a hick. Understood?"

"Uh, yes Sergeant."

"Good." Shen slapped his the side of his arm. "Come with me."

Marcus followed Shen to where a large, gravel road ran through the length of the camp. Sitting on the road was a convoy consisting of several M12 "Warthog" variants. Marcus saw members of 2nd Squad climbing aboard an M831 troop transport. Marcus thought Shen would be leading them to one of those Warthogs but instead, he led Marcus to the last vehicle convoy. It looked like an M12 light reconnaissance vehicle Warthog variant, but the rear mounted machine gun had been ripped out and replaced with a couple of seats.

"So, Private Olsen, John M.," Shen began in a conversational tone, nodding in greeting at the soldier sitting in the driver's seat. "I don't know what you've learned in training, but things are run a bit differently here." Shen paused and then looked over Marcus again. "Actually, let's prioritize here. First off, do you have a weapon?"

"No Sergeant."

"Really? Fish has been leading you around by the nose and he didn't even bother giving you a weapon?" Shen reached into the cab of the Warthog and pulled out a loaded MA37. "You know how to use one of these things?"

"Yes Sergeant," Marcus answered as he took the offered weapon. Making sure to keep his finger off the trigger and the muzzle down, he ejected the magazine to make sure it was loaded. After reinserting it, he pulled back on the chambering bolt enough to verify there was a round in the chamber. Finally he flicked on the digital counter and waited until it showed that there were 32 rounds loaded.

Shen, who had been watching Marcus as he played with the rifle, nodded in approval. "Good. I only ask because our last replacement literally had no idea which end the bullets came out of."

His surprise must have shown on his face because Shen laughed. "Yeah, I know. It was weird. But anyways. Second thing. Your pauldrons and your groin armor." He pointed at the objects in question. "Get rid of them."

"But in basic," Marcus protested before Shen interrupted him.

"Yeah, I know what they tell you in basic. Like I said, how TRADOC thinks things are done versus how they actually are in the field is radically different. They say always keep all components of your armor on while out in past the wire; past experience has shown that's a bunch of bull. Fact of the matter is, this armor," he tapped his chest plate, "does nothing to stop plasma weaponry. To be fair it's great against shrapnel, but if we're going to be carrying that much weight, I'd rather we dump some armor and carry more ammunition. Speaking of which, do you have any?"

"No Sergeant," Marcus replied as he shed his pauldrons and looked around for someplace to put them. Shen took them from him and tossed them in the direction of the tent. Marcus looked at him in surprise but Shen ignored him, instead opening a compartment on the side of the Warthog and began digging around inside it.

"Typical," Shen said with disgust, though Marcus got the feeling Shen' ire wasn't directed at him. "You know, I can deal with Command giving us replacements minutes before head for the line. I don't like it, but I can live with it. But is it too much to ask that they be properly equipped? Take this." Shen handed him a pouch of magazines and an assault bag. Curious, Marcus cracked open the bag to look inside. It was filled with plastic explosives.

"Uh, Sergeant?" Marcus said nervously. "I don't know how to use explosives."

Shen gave him an odd look. "You are a combat engineer, are you not?"

"Uh, yes Sergeant. But they didn't teach us how to use explosives in training."

"Did they change the curriculum again? Man, every freaking year they teach less and less things to recruits. Just trying to throw more meat to the grinder I suppose," Shen complained. "What did they teach you then?"

"Just how to dig fortifications Sergeant."

"Hate it when I have to teach replacements how to do their job," Marcus heard Shen mutter. He suddenly lifted a hand to his ear. "Yeah, okay."

It took Marcus more time than he was willing to admit, to realize Shen was talking into his radio, not just spouting words out loud.

Shen looked up at Marcus. "We're moving out. We'll figure it out later. In the meantime, just hang on to that. Let's mount up."

Tossing his rifle aboard the Warthog, Shen climbed aboard the back and turned around to help Marcus on. Shen gestured for Marcus to sit down in one of the seats and just as he did, with a lurch, the Warthog began moving forward.

"So," Shen began as he picked up his rifle off the floor, "Private Olsen, John M. Where you from? Are you a volunteer or a draftee?"

"Um. I'm from Harmony, Sergeant. I uh, volunteered." Marcus told him.

"Good for you Private Olsen, John M!" Shen said brightly. "I did the same thing! Definitely made me the man I am today." Shen continued in a more sarcastic voice. "A kind of fucked up, freaky looking, sub-human thing, but a man none the less! Because after all, that's what's important, right? Being a man! At least, that's what my uncle always told me."

Marcus wasn't sure how to respond to that, so he decided to keep his mouth shut. Shen seemed to notice his discomfort and laughed. "Don't worry Private Olsen, John M. I'm only kidding."

They lapsed into silence. Marcus shuffled uncomfortably in his seat. He had a lot of questions that he wanted to ask, but he didn't want to irritate the one person who was treating him like he was more than dirt. Shen suddenly glanced at him.

"I see you got a question. Ask away Private Olsen, John M."

For a one eyed man, Sergeant Shen really didn't miss much, Marcus noted.

"Is there, a reason why you keep calling me Private Olsen, John M?" he asked hesitantly. "Not that I don't mind Sergeant," he quickly added. "It's just that, no one else has done that before."

Shen stared at him before laughing. "Man, you are far more polite than I was at your age. Shit, my first question to me would have been 'what the fuck happened to your face?'" He shook his head. "To answer your question though, Private Olsen, John M, I'm trying to remember you name. Repeating it helps."

Marcus knew he should just be appreciative of the fact Shen even bothered to use his name, but he could help himself when he opened his mouth and asked "Could you stop calling me John?"

To Marcus' surprise, Shen didn't ask why. "Sure. What would you like to be called?"

"Uh, my middle name. Marcus."

"Okay then Private Marcus Olsen," Shen said, nodding his head. "So that's what the 'M' stands for."

Marcus felt like he owed Shen an explanation, even though he hadn't asked for one. "Only my mother called me John. But she, um…"

"It's okay," Shen interrupted. "I understand. Marcus is fine. Private Olsen, Marcus. Private Marcus Olsen," he muttered to himself.

"By the way," Shen suddenly said. "If you've got any questions, feel free to ask them. I'm sure a lot of people have told you to keep your mouth shut, but I operate under a different philosophy. I mean, if you don't ask questions, how are you going to know what you don't know, you know?"

Marcus reflexively nodded even though he really didn't know. Shen fell silent as Marcus thought about what he wanted to ask, now that he'd been given a blanket permission to ask questions. He honestly really wanted to ask Shen about how his face got damaged but now that Shen had brought it up, it just seemed rude. His fingers closed around the rifle in his hand and he wondered where it had come from. Shen obviously had his own rifle. Was this one a spare? Should Marcus do something similar, bring a spare rifle everywhere he went? He decided to ask that question.

"Sergeant, do you always carry this much ammunition in the Warthog?" Marcus asked, gesturing to his rifle and the backpack of explosives he'd been given.

Shen nodded. "First rule of a firefight: there is no such thing as too much ammo. You will never ever hear someone in a firefight say 'gee, I wish I didn't bring all this ammo with me.' There is a limit on how much you can carry though, so I always make sure whatever vehicle I'm riding in is stocked up. Even if I might not be bring said vehicle into battle with me."

"We're not keeping the Warthogs?"

"No. They're just our ride into the city. As soon as we cross the river and enter the city, we'll proceed to our objective on foot."

Marcus thought about it. "Wouldn't it be faster just to drive the entire way?"

Shen held up a finger. "First rule in urban warfare: stay out of the streets. You stay in the middle of the street, next thing you know, you've got a ton of artillery falling on your head. Or a sniper will decide to use you for target practice. Plus, city is being bombarded almost every day by both sides. Streets are so choked full of debris, even our Scorpions are having trouble getting through."

Marcus had a hard time believing that. He had seen videos of Scorpions in action. They were so large and powerful, it seemed impossible for anything to stop them. But one glance at Shen's face and Marcus reminded himself that Shen would definitely know better than him.

"What is our objective Sergeant?"

"Standard rotation," Shen said with a shrug. "3rd Platoon has been spending the last couple of weeks providing engineering and demolition support to infantry units fighting on the line. Now it's our turn." He gave Marcus a serious look. "I don't want to sound discouraging but quite honestly, this was about the worst time you could have joined. If we were just building fortifications, I could have had some time training you up some. Maybe increase your chances of survival a bit."

Marcus felt a pit of dread forming in his stomach. "Sergeant," Marcus began hesitantly. "Everyone so far keeps telling me I won't survive a week on the front line. But, that's just because they're just trying to scare me right? I'm the rookie after all. I mean, it's not that bad against the Covenant is it?"

Shen stared at him long enough for Marcus to being to feel uncomfortable under his gaze. He sighed suddenly. "I'm not going to lie to you Private. According to statistics, fifty percent of all replacements don't survive their first three days on the front."

Marcus was shocked. "But the news is always…"

"All new pertaining to the war is processed through the Office of Naval Intelligence," Shen interrupted. "Part of their job is to make things sound good, even if they have to lie about it. Truth of the matter is, every day this war continues to drag on, we draw closer and closer to utter annihilation. And there is not much we can do about that."

Marcus wanted to protest, accuse Shen of lying. But one look at his face, and Marcus knew he had to be telling the truth. "Is that why everyone is being such a dick to me?" was all he could say.

"It's a defensive mechanism," Shen said somberly. "Most people aren't able to handle losing so many friends in such a short amount of time. It's really not natural. What usually happens is, most people close themselves up. They stop trying to know people, that way it won't hurt as much when they die."

Marcus was tempted to ask Shen why he was different then, but Marcus didn't want to offend the only person who was being kind to him. Besides, the more Marcus thought about it, he wasn't sure he wanted to know the answer.

His mind reeling, Marcus didn't ask any more questions as they drove through the base

Marcus didn't ask any more questions as they drove through the front gates of the base. They continued to ride in silence as the Warthog drove down a four lane parkway. Everywhere he looked, all Marcus could see were the signs of war. The parkway was completely devoid of civilian vehicles; only military green trucks and armored vehicles could be seen driving up and down the parkway. Small dirt roads branched off the parkway, leading to open clearings in the woods, which contained a wide variety of military gear. In one clearing, Marcus saw a massive stockpile of artillery shells. In another clear just down the road, Marcus saw the guns the shells belonged too. In yet another clearing, he could see what looked like a small refueling and rearming area for Marine Corps AV-14 "Hornets." The massive amount of equipment he saw seemed to contradict what Shen was telling him just moments ago. With all this firepower, surely they couldn't be losing, could they?

Marcus held onto that hope until they reached the bridge that Shen said would take them into the city. Marcus felt his jaw drop.

"Welcome to the Highway of Death," Shen said wirily.

The bridge was massive. It was almost five kilometers long and it had four lanes traveling in both directions, along with a single break down lane at either side of the bridge for a total of ten lanes. However at the moment, only two lanes in either direction were passable. The rest of the bridge was covered with destroyed vehicles. Burnt out hulls of public transit buses, soot covered ruins of civilian cars and trucks, and shattered remains of semi-trailer trucks blocked the road. Interspersed among the civilian vehicles were also a lot of military vehicles: M12 Warthogs, M313 Elephants, Scorpion main battle tanks, M274 Mongooses, and even some M9 "Wolverine" anti-aircraft tanks. And it wasn't just ground vehicles either. Scattered all over the place were parts belonging to Falcons, Hornets, Pelicans, and near the middle of the bridge, the front half of an Air Force GA-TL1 Longsword. A swarm of military personnel were crawling over the wreckages, probably looking for stuff to salvage, but the sheer amount of destruction stunned Marcus.

"What the hell happened here?" he asked in a hushed voice.

"When the Covies attacked, this was the first city they landed ground forces in," Shen answered. "First thing they did was take out the space elevator. With the air space contested and the elevator down, there was only one way out of the city: the roads. Unfortunately, civilians begin civilians, ran without regard. Really ruined the military's evacuation plans. This bridge in particular, Army tried to set up some anti-aircraft artillery, give the fleeing civilians some cover, but everyone got in their way. As a result, Covenant Banshees had free rein to strafe anything that moved here for over twelve hours."

"How many people were killed?" Marcus couldn't help but ask. He saw Shen shrug.

"As far as I understand, there aren't any official death counts just yet. And even then, it wouldn't be accurate. Who knows how many people were vaporized? Or their bodies burned until not even ash was left? And how many people tried to dive into the water below, thinking they could escape that way? Not only that, the Covenant controlled this bridge for a couple of days before pulling back into the city. Who knows how many bodies they ate? And yes, that's not a myth, some Covenant species, specifically Jackals and Brutes, will eat humans."

Marcus shook his head in disbelieve but couldn't dispute anything Shen said. He continued to stare at the vast amount of wreckage, only tearing his eyes away when they finally crossed the bridge and entered the city.

If Marcus thought the city looked damaged from the distance, then he definitely thought the entire city was destroyed when he finally saw it up close. Everywhere he looked, there was nothing but destruction. He couldn't see a single window intact, and every single building had holes in them. Some buildings had outright collapsed. The highway, for example, only continued about a hundred meters into the city before it was cut in half by what looked like the top half of an entire skyscraper. Not only that, everything was covered in a thick layer of gray and brown dust. Even the air seemed to be brownish in color and when Marcus took a deep breath in, he almost choked as his lungs were instantly coated in dust. Gunfire and explosions echoed throughout the city but given the acoustics, he couldn't exactly pinpoint which direction it was coming from. Overhead, he heard the roar of a jet engine but he could see where it was. Moments later, with a yelp, Marcus reflexively ducked as there was a massive explosion somewhere in the distance and the entire city shook, causing a cloud of dust to rise up from the ground.

"You can get up you know," Shen commented as he looked at Marcus with a sideways glance. "That was one of ours. My guess? 500 kg bomb. Probably the Air Force. Don't worry, if you need to duck, I'll let you know."

Marcus picked himself up, a little bit shaken. He watched as the convoy continue down the road a couple dozen meters before taking a small exit ramp off the highway. The ramp took them three blocks into the city before ending into a large clearing that, in another life, might have been a park. The area was clearly being used as a forward operating base. All roads leading further into the city were block either by roadblocks covered by pillboxes manned by soldiers and covered by rocket launchers and machine guns, or they were blocked by mass amounts of debris protected by mines. A couple of Scorpions tanks were parked nearby, their guns orientated towards the interior of the city. Aside from a couple of soldiers running from one building to another, Marcus saw no one out in the open. The convoy grounded to a halt.

"This is our stop!" Someone near the front of the convoy bellowed. "Everyone dismount and get into the Central Station! You aren't dead yet so let's move!"

Marcus scrambled to follow as Shen jumped off the end of the Warthog. He stumbled, and almost fell but Shen grabbed him by the back of his vest and pulled him upright. He quickly led Marcus to a nearby building, where the rest of the platoon was gathering.

Inside, the lobby of the building had been converted into military outpost. Holes in the two of the walls led into the next building; beyond that, Marcus could see more holes leading into the next building, and the building after that, forming tunnels that feed into the city. Guarding the entrances to the tunnels were sandbags and tripod mounted .50 caliber machine guns. Next to one of the entrances, Marcus noticed a handwritten sign that had been mounted on the wall that read "Underground Railroad, curtesy of the 223rd CEB. 'When in doubt, just use more HE.'" Coming out from one of the tunnels, there was a small squad pushing a cart.

"Welcome to the city of Kiel," Shen said cheerfully from behind him. "Or as I sometimes like to put it." He paused as the squad exited the tunnel and Marcus was horrified to realize the cart they were pushing was stacked full of body bags.

"Welcome to the first day of the end of your life."

* * *

Author's Note: The scene where Marcus first enters the tent is partially influenced by the 1949, American war film, _Battleground_.

The "fifty percent of all replacements don't survive their first three days on the front" is the number provided by American WW2 historian and writer Stephen E. Ambrose, from his book, _Citizen Soldiers._ (Part III, Chapter 11 "Replacements and Reinforcements.") Furthermore, Marcus' treatment was influenced by accounts provided by WW2 veterans, which can also be found in the same chapter.


	2. Chapter 2: Innie

**Jarhead762, the reason why your review did not show up is because you are a guest reviewer. My understanding is that it takes 36 hours for a guest review to show up on the website. I think I've disable that feature, but I'm not 100% sure. As for your review, well, I hate to disappoint but I'm not planning on deviating too much in terms of technology from what we've seen in the games. A lot of stuff in the game leaves me scratching my head but I try to confine myself to what's been depicted in the games.**

* * *

**Innie**

Private First Class Io Manatou carefully positioned the end of the tire iron over the wheel lug nut. Tapping the head to make sure it was secure in place, Io positioned all of her not so formidable weight of forty-six kilograms on the lever and shoved down, hoping it would be enough to force the nut loose. Unsurprisingly, it did not work and Io nearly slipped and lost her balance as the tire iron failed to budge.

Pinching the bridge of her nose in frustration, Io sat down, using the handle of the tire iron as an impromptu seating bench. Ignoring Army regulations for the moment, Io slipped off her CH252 combat helmet and wiped her brow with the sleeve of her jacket. For the last thirty minutes, Io had been working on trying to salvage this tire from the remains of this Warthog so that it could be used someplace else. The only thing stopping her from accomplishing that was this one wheel lug nut. She'd tried just about everything to remove the nut but it had yet to give. It was almost like it was welded on. She wish she had a pneumatic hammer drill but her Warthog Maintenance Platoon only had one with them today, and judging from the sounds, someone else was using it and Io did not feel like going over to ask for it.

Slipping her helmet back on, Io took a sip of water from her hydration pack, looking around. Today, and indeed most days, her platoon was working on trying to salvage as many parts as they could from the destroyed military and civilian vehicles that had been abandoned on the Roman Baxter Memorial Bridge, or as it was more commonly referred to these days, the Highway of Death, in the early days of the Covenant invasion. At the time, Army high command had decided they had neither the personnel, nor the time to bother with any sort of salvaging operation, figuring they could always ship in more parts as necessary. But as the Covenant were constantly disrupting their supply lines, the Army realized they had to prioritize what they wanted to deliver, so that when a supply train did make it through, they'd have the supplies they needed to continue the fight against Covenant forces. Those in charge had decided those priorities would be ammunition, food, and medicine. In that order.

In Io's opinion, those were the right priorities. After all, what was the point in receiving a batch of brand new headlights for Scorpion tanks if everyone was dead? However, as vehicles received battle damage or simply had parts worn out from age, the Army's ready stock of fresh parts quickly ran low, Army command realized that they need to gather the personnel and make the time to begin salvage operations if they wanted to continue having armored vehicles in the fight. It help that a lot of combat battalions had been wiped out in the last three months, leaving a lot of support personnel with little or nothing to do.

Io wasn't crazy about her new role as a scavenger though. It was hard work, tiring, dirty, and dangerous. Despite being some distance away from the line, the bridge on occasion was still bombarded by plasma mortars from Wraith tanks hiding in the city, and every now and then, the Covenant would send flights of Banshees to bomb the bridge, and the soldiers working on it. On even rarer occasions, a patrol of Covenant foot soldiers would float down the river in makeshift boats and climb up the piers to engage UNSC forces in close quarters combat. In terms of physical damage, the raids and mortar strikes never did much damage; the real damage was done to moral and nerves.

And the Covenant weren't even the most dangerous aspect of working on the bridge. Many of the military vehicles had been destroyed before they could use up all their ammunition. As a result, there had been a lot of unused munitions aboard these vehicles when they were destroyed, many of which had been set on fire and then exposed to the weather, causing a lot of them to become unstable. Explosive ordnance disposal units and combat engineers had cleared as much of the bridge as possible, but with so many wreaks, it was impossible to tell if they had gotten them all. Just last week, a couple of mechanics from a different platoon had been removing armored plates from a destroyed Scorpion tank with a cutting torch when they accidently cut into a 90mm HEAT shell, which exploded, killing them both.

But, even ignoring the Covenant and the unexploded ordnance, there were still the bodies to deal with. Like EOD, grave yard registration had come by and picked up all the bodies they could find, or pieces of bodies as the case may be, but since no one knew how many people had been on the bridge when it was attacked, no one knew how many bodies had yet to be recovered. Ripping open vehicles could result in some very nasty surprises. One time Io had been removing the trunk of a civilian car. She had popped it open and been immediately assaulted by a terrible smell. It was so bad, for a moment she thought they'd just been hit by a chemical bomb. It took her a few moments to realize what she was smelling was actually the scent of two rotting corpses. The bodies were in such advance state of decay, it was almost impossible to tell they had been human at one point.

That being said, Io knew her job could be so much worse. Due to a shortfall in manpower, some maintenance platoons had been converted into rifle platoons and sent directly into the city as riflemen. From what she had heard, in the month they've been there, roughly two-thirds of those platoons had already been killed or wounded in action.

Abandoning the tire for now, Io walked to the front popped open the hood, wondering if there was something she could rip out from the engine. She popped open the hood but as she leaned in, she caught movement out of the corner of her eye and she instinctively reached for her MA37 assault rifle strapped to her back.

She barely relaxed when she realized it was only another mechanic from her platoon. Isaac, his name was if Io remembered correctly. She kept her hand hovering by her rifle, waiting to see what he would do. Would he say something to her? Or try to start something? Or would he just ignore her and go about his business? Io was willing to bet it would be the latter, because that was about as far as their treatment of her went, but Io felt more comfortable with a weapon within arm's reach, just in case.

Isaac came closer and Io felt her heart rate increase as her adrenaline began pumping through her veins. She could feel sweat forming on her brow, but that was the only visible sign of her nervousness. She wasn't ever going to show fear in front of these people.

She tensed as Isaac stopped a few meters behind her. Keeping her face neutral, Io very slowly straightened up and turned to face him. For a moment he looked as if he was doing to say something, but instead merely sneered at her before walking passed her to where she had left her tire iron still attached to the tire. Then, very deliberately, he grabbed the tire iron and, without asking for her permission, walked off with it in hand.

Io watched him go before releasing her breath and pulling her hand away from her rifle. She supposed it wasn't a very good sign that she treated her fellow platoon mates with as much suspicion as she would a member of the Covenant but she couldn't help it; as far as she was concerned, as of three months ago, the UNSC **was** the enemy. As of three months ago, she'd been an Insurrectionist.

It usually came as a surprise to people when they learned she'd been an Insurrectionist. Standing at barely 160 centimeters tall and with her long black hair and her olive skin, Io hardly fit the bloodthirsty, ruthless and savage terrorist image people had when they thought of Insurrectionist. And to be fair, Io hadn't been an Innie foot soldier. She'd never planted any bombs, she'd never participated in any suicide bombings (obviously,) and she'd never engaged in a firefight against UNSC forces. The most she'd done was run a safe house and distribute propaganda filers. In fact, part of the reason why she was on this planet as opposed to staying on Harmony, her home planet, was because she felt like she wasn't doing enough to support the Innie cause and she wanted to do more.

Not that her new platoon mates would understand that. As far as they were concerned, if you weren't one hundred supportive of the UNSC and all its policies, you were an Insurrectionist. Their reactions to her ranged between flat out ignoring her presence to outright attacking her. Though, the last time someone tried to attack her, she had broken their jaw with a single blow. Never in her life had she appreciated more than at the moment having had an older sister who was a regional mixed martial arts champion.

For the most part though, people just left her alone. They didn't include her in anything or even really talk to her. Every time she walked into a room, everyone fell silent; in the mess hall, if she sat at a table where some other people were already sitting, they would silent get up and walk away. It was almost as if people expected her to, she didn't know, explode or something and no one wanted to be around when that happened. It was weird and she didn't quite understand their reactions. Io wasn't quite sure what was worse: being surrounded by all these UNSC supporters, or the isolation.

"Hiya!"

Then again, there were some advantages to being isolated.

Io was tempted to pretend she was too busy to talk but she knew from past experience that wouldn't determine him. Him being Specialist Cornelius Toretto.

Io wasn't sure what to make of Toretto. He was young, relatively new to the platoon having been assigned to the unit roughly at the same time she had. In the first two and half months Io had been in the platoon, he had acted like everyone else: he had ignored and pretty much avoided her. She didn't think he had ever insulted her, but then again, he'd never stopped anyone else from doing so and she had definitely seen him laughing at some of the things thrown her way. And yet, in the last two weeks, he'd suddenly been trying to become her best friend. At first, he simply greeted her; then he started trying to have conversations with her. Io never responded or even acknowledged his presence, yet somehow Toretto, instead of taking the hint that she wasn't interested talking to him, took that as a sign of encouragement and actually began seeking her out. No matter where she went, he seemed to be able to find her. Granted, she wasn't actively working to hide from him but still. It was like having a second shadow. A shadow that walk, talk, and never shut up.

Io wasn't sure what his goal was. It wasn't like he was lonely; he seemed to have a good relationship with everyone else in the platoon, not that she paid that much attention. It wasn't like he was trying to become an Innie; she'd heard enough UNSC propaganda come out of his mouth to have him pegged as one of the UNSC's brainwashed drones. And it wasn't like he was required to talk to her like the platoon commander and platoon sergeant were; at the rank of Specialist, in terms of pay scale, he was only one grade higher than she was and in terms of responsibility, well, he was just as low on the chain of command as she was. There was only one logical conclusion she could come up with as to why he suddenly seemed like he wanted to be her friend: he wanted to get into her pants.

Io would have sighed if she was alone. Men. Didn't matter who there were, they were always thinking with their dicks and for some reason, they always went for the women they couldn't get. Like, there were six other women assigned to this platoon alone. Granted, Io was pretty sure one of them was a lesbian, but still, that meant there were five other women who he could go bother and they'd probably be more receptive than her.

Io had no interest in talking to someone who was only interested in getting into her pants so she stuck her head back under the hood of the Warthog as Toretto walked up to her. Through the corner of her eye, she could see him stop right next to her.

"How are you today Miss Io?" her heard Toretto say cheerfully. And that was another thing that bugged her about Toretto: how could be so damn cheerful all the time when he was surrounded by so much death? Granted, it was mostly UNSC deaths, but that just meant it should affect him more than it did her.

"Well, I hope your has been going much better than mine," Toretto said after Io failed to respond. "I just got news that my request for leave has been turned down by Lieutenant Boyer. My sister is getting married in a week and I was hoping to attend. I mean, I only have one sister, so why not, right? Free booze too. But the Lieutenant told me he couldn't let me go because he needs all the good men he's got on the line! What for? I mean, the line is stabilized and it's not like I'm doing much fighting. But I guess what do I know, right? He's the one in charge. He gets to see the big picture."

Steadfastly ignoring Toretto, Io noted that the radiator hose seemed mostly intact, which was good. That was exactly one of the parts battalion had run out of completely. Pulling out a screwdriver from her pocket, Io worked on removing it from the engine.

"But, anyways. I didn't come here with the intention of babbling on about how my day is going," Toretto was saying.

Could have fooled her.

"But I couldn't help but notice you were having difficulties with this tire here." He kicked the tire in question with his boot. "I also noticed Ishmael" (oh, that's what his name was?) "had swung by to ah, borrow your tire iron. So I thought, why don't I come by and see if you need my help?"

She actually did, now that he had mentioned it, but she wasn't going to admit that to him.

"Okay!" Toretto said brightly after Io failed to speak. "Let's get cracking then!" Obviously he had taken her silence as an affirmation. "Let's see what we got here." And to Io's annoyance, Toretto began whistling.

Io tried to ignore him. She really did. But the whistling was the last straw. She slammed her screwdriver down on the engine block, causing Toretto to jump.

"I'm not going to sleep with you," she told him bluntly and the cheerful look on his face abruptly vanished, replaced with a look of confusion.

"What?" he asked, sounding bewildered. "I don't want to sleep with you?"

"Why the fuck not?" Io instantly retorted. "What, is it because I'm an Innie and you think I'm going to explode or something? Or am I just so hideous that you just can't bear the thought?"

"No no!" Toretto said quickly. "You're a very beautiful woman and I've got nothing against you being an Innie!"

"So you do want to sleep with me," Io asked him very pointedly.

"Ye.. no! I mean… what?" Toretto's mouth opened and closed several times as he tried to formulate a reply.

Io had to duck her head back under the hood to avoid letting Toretto see the grin on her face. This was just too funny. She used to this do all this all the time with her ex-boyfriend. Who was killed in a firefight against UNSC forces.

Io didn't have to hide her grin anymore.

"So," Io said, interrupting Toretto's sputtering. "If you're not trying to fuck me, what the hell are you doing?"

"Um, I'm removing this tire?" Toretto answered helplessly, pointing to the Warthog tire. Which, to Io's annoyance, he had managed to loosen the lug nut enough to begin removing it by hand.

"No, you idiot." Io rapped her knuckled against the edge of her helmet. "I've been stuck here for three months. Then, suddenly, two weeks ago you start trying to become my best friend? If you're not trying to sleep with me, what the hell are you doing then?"

"Oh, is that why you haven't said a word in response to me?" Toretto said, surprised. Then he looked thoughtful. "I suppose my behavior in the last few days could be construed that way. Man, I'm not very good at this…" he trailed off at the glare on Io's face. He cleared his throat. "I'm not trying to get into your pants Io," he told her awkwardly. "Um, I'm just trying to be your friend."

His answer was just so mind-boggling, Io had to repeat his reply twice in her head before she comprehended what he was saying.

"Okay, first off, what makes you even think I need a friend?" Io demanded to know. "Second, why would you think I would even want to be friends with you? And, thirdly, why now?"

"Okay, I'll admit for the second question? That was probably a bit presumptuous of me," Toretto a bit bashfully. "As for the first? Well, you're alone all the time. And I'm not saying that's your fault," Toretto said quickly at the look on Io's face. "But you just seemed rather lonely. So I thought, why not? As for why now." Toretto hesitated. "It's because of Fredrickson."

"Who?" Io blurted out.

"Fredrickson."

"Repeating his name is not going to help me know who you're talking about."

"You know, the guy who was killed in the mortar strike last week?"

"Oh." Io leaned against the hood of the Warthog. "Is that what his name was? I thought it was Henderson."

Toretto gave her an odd look. "There isn't anyone named Henderson in this platoon. In fact, I don't think there's a Henderson in this entire battalion."

Io tossed her hands in the air. "Well excuse me for not knowing people's names. It wasn't as if you people were lining up to greet me when I first got here."

"That's true," Toretto said guiltily. "And I'm sorry for that. You didn't deserve that. You may have been an Innie at some point, but the fact is, when the Covenant attacked, you put aside your dislike of the UNSC and you're here now. And that should count for something."

Io stared at him momentarily before bursting out laughing.

"What?" Toretto asked, a smile gracing his face. "Was it something I said?"

"No," Io said, calming down. "Apparently we're just both operating under misconceptions. I think you're trying to get into my pants. You think I'm here by choice."

The smile on Toretto's face disappeared. "You're not?"

"The reason why I'm here on this shitty ass planet is because I couldn't find a transport off-world before I got pegged as an Innie and got picked up by your forces," Io told him bluntly. "I got handed over to ONI and they gave me two choices: either join the UNSC or they'd hand me over to the Covenant. And I have no interest in getting eaten alive. So here I am."

Toretto looked like he was reeling from that revelation. "Well, you're still here, aren't you?" he said, sounding like he was trying to convince himself. "That must mean a small part of you believes in what we're fighting for."

"ONI is watching ever single move I make," Io retorted harshly. "Why do you think, out of all the Maintenance and Motor Pool Platoons available in the AO [area of operations,] I was assigned to a _military police_ one?" Toretto looked confused at that one. "It's because if I do anything ONI doesn't approve, like going AWOL, the MPs are under orders to kill me," Io clarified. "And that, is the only reason why I haven't booked it yet."

"Oh come on," Toretto protested. "ONI isn't that bad."

Io looked at him in shock. "You know what?" she said. "I'm not even going to dignify that with a response. If you refuse to even acknowledge some of the war crimes ONI has been accuse of, not even by my side but by UNSC military prosecutors, then you're a bigger idiot than I thought."

"Okay. I'll give you that one," Toretto admitted. "ONI does some… shady stuff, but that's their job. But I can see why you wouldn't like them, so, okay. But, what about the rest of us?"

"What about you?" Io demanded.

"I know we haven't been all that friendly to you, but surely you won't abandon us?" Toretto asked. "I mean, we aren't that bad, right?"

Io scoffed. "Let me ask you this. If I hadn't proved that I was very good in hand to hand combat the first week I was here, what do you think some of these people here would have done to me? A young woman, who doesn't have any friends, who isn't protected, and also happens to be the enemy?"

"Wait." Toretto held up his hand. "Are you saying you think someone would have tried to **rape** you?"

Io cocked an eyebrow.

"No no no," Toretto protested, shaking his head. "That is against the UCMJ [uniform code of military justice] and that would never happen."

"Yeah?" Io challenged. "Tell that to Emily Bursal."

"Who is Emily Bursal?" Toretto asked hesitantly.

"Emily Bursal was a resident of Kavala, in the Thasos region of Harmony. It also happened to be the location of a UNSC military base. Emily was not an Insurrectionist. Nor was she associated with the Insurrection in any way, shape, or form. But for some reason, one day when she was walking home from school, five UNSC personnel grabbed her off the street. They gang raped her for hours and once they had their fun, they slit her throat and tossed her naked body into a storm drain. Her body laid there for weeks before local police found it." Io laughed but there was no humor to it. "I remember reading an article about her. When they first found her, they had no idea who she was. You see, raccoons had gotten to her first. They had to ID her by blood samples because she didn't have a face left to identify." Io stared at Toretto seriously. "Emily Bursal was thirteen."

"Okay," Toretto admitted. "If what you said is true, then I sincerely hope the fuckers that did that, burn in hell for that. In fact, I'll tell you honestly, if I saw those guys right here, right now, I'd frag their asses. But you have to remember, the UNSC Defense Force consist of billions and billions of personnel, spread across four serviced branches. You can't judge the entirety of the UNSC based on the actions of five fuckheads with nothing better to do."

"You think those five were the only ones to commit war crimes?" Io shot back. "What about the fate of the Far Isle in 2492? The UNSC nuked that colony from orbit. They murdered everybody. Or the Struga Protest of 2520 in Skopje? UNSC murdered over two hundred protestors. Peaceful protestors, just trying to let their voices get heard! Or is freedom of speech only permitted as long as good things are said about the UNSC?"

"You want to talk about war crimes? Then let's talk about the Innie war crimes," Toretto countered. "What about the bombing of the financial district of Manassas in the Ütközet providence on Reach? Three bombs, five hundred casualties. They're only crime was the fact they were citizens of the UEG. Or how about the mass grave found just outside of Luxor on Eridanus II? Seventy bodies were pulled out of that grave. Every single one of them had been killed with a single shot to the back of their heads. Their crime? For being UNSC supporters. People as old as ninety to children as young as three."

"That's different. That was the United Rebel Front," Io said dismissively. "They don't represent us."

"They're still Innies," Toretto pointed out. "They claim to act in the best interest of the Insurrection. How is that different from a couple of criminals committing war crimes in the name of the UNSC?"

"It's different because some of those crimes were sanctioned by UNSC command! The URF may think they're the head of all Insurrectionist groups, but no group recognized their authority."

"Okay. You bring up the fact some of those crimes were sanctioned by UNSC commanders. You're right. But guess what? All of them were brought justice. Admiral Martins, the man responsible for the attack on Far Isle, was forced to resign and then spent ten years in military prison for his actions. And Major Lee, the man responsible for the Struga Riot massacre? Him and about half his company were arrested and thrown in prison. That's the difference between the UNSC and the Insurrectionist. We actually punish the people responsible for war crimes. How many people have the Innies put in jail for their crimes?"

The loud rumbling of truck engines caught their attention and they looked up in time to see a convoy of Warthogs driving across the bridge, headed in the direction of the city. Reinforcements for the front or just a rotation? Io couldn't tell but she couldn't help but morbidly wonder how many of those soldiers sitting in the Warthogs would coming back out.

They watched until the Warthogs drove out of sight before turning back to each other.

"Okay, enough about war crimes. Apparently we can argue until we turn blue in the face, we're not going to convince each other we're right," Toretto said. "I've got a question for you. Why the Insurrection?"

"What do you mean?" Io asked, a bit guardedly.

"I mean, clearly you're a bright young woman"

"I am probably a lot older than you think," Io interrupted.

"Yeah? How old are you?"

Io glared at him. "You clearly don't have a lot of experience with women, do you?"

"What? What did I say?"

"You never ask a woman how old she is."

"Um. Okay." Toretto looked confused. "Why?"

Io shook her head. "Just don't. You'll thank me later. Just know that I'm older than you."

"Okay," Toretto said slowly before shaking his head. "But anyways, back to my question. I guess, to put it bluntly, why are you an Innie?"

"Why are you in the UNSC?" Io countered.

"Well, I was born in UNSC controlled space," Toretto responded. Io cocked her head.

"And? Or can you not leave either?"

"No, I mean. I believe in the standards and the goals and the reasons for the UNSC."

"Funny," Io commented. "I was about to say the same thing."

"Okay. What are the reasons for the Insurrection then?"

Io rolled her eyes. "Typical," she said disgruntledly. "You UNSC drones don't even know who you're fighting."

Toretto sighed. "Okay then, pretend I'm an idiot…"

"I already do," Io interrupted.

"Well, pretend I'm even more of an idiot and…"

Io hesitated. "I don't think that's possible," she stated.

Toretto looked annoyed. "Can I finish what I'm about to say?"

Io adopted a puzzled look on her face. "Who's stopping you?"

Toretto looked at her in disbelief.

"You really don't know how to stay on topic, do you? Weren't you asking me something?" Io prompted.

"But, you, gah!" Toretto planted his face into his palm. "You're messing with me, aren't you?"

"I have no idea what you're talking about," Io replied, doing her best to conceal her grin.

Toretto shot her an exasperated look. "You are an evil, evil woman."

Io shrugged noncommittally.

Toretto shook his head. "Okay, let me try this again."

"Again? When did you even start?"

Toretto glared at her.

"Well don't let me stop you," Io said with barely controlled laughter.

Toretto continued to glare at her.

"Okay, okay, I'm done." Io made a zipping motion across her lips.

"Alright. So, the entire shtick of the Insurrection is that you guys don't want to be part of the UEG and I guess, by extension, the UNSC. Am I right?"

He glanced at Io who said nothing.

"Oh, now I can speak?" Io said after a moment of silence.

"My god, it is like talking to my little brother," Toretto said with a sigh. "I guess what they say isn't true: with age comes wisdom."

Io decided she had teased him enough.

"Yes, that is one of the general reasons for the Insurrection," she finally answered.

Toretto nodded. "Now, I grew up in the UEG. So, I'll be the first to admit, I just don't know any other way of life. But I can't imagine life without the UEG. They provide security, safety, hospitals, roads, everything. And the things they don't provide, they make it so that other people can do so whether it be creating and enforcing economic laws, or in the form of the police. So, my question is this: why don't the Innies want to stay? And I do mean this honestly. Like, genuine question here."

Io paused to gather her thoughts. "Well, to give you a genuine answer, answer me this so at least I can have context. What colony were you raised on?"

"Europa."

"In the Sol System?" Io asked, surprised. "That Europa?"

"Yep."

"Wow. You really aren't kidding when you said you don't know anything besides the UNSC."

"Getting sent to Reach for military training was the first time I'd been out of the Sol System," Toretto admitted.

"This is actually the first time I've been off Harmony," Io admitted. "You know, ever."

"Well then. I'm sorry the first planet you visited got invaded by the Covenant while you were here," Toretto said sincerely.

"I am too," Io said softly. "But to answer your question. When you were growing up, you learn about how Europa was developed, right?"

"Of course."

"So, am I right in thinking that when Europa was getting colonized, Europa received a lot of support from Earth in terms of food, manpower, supplies… resources you know?"

"Yeah." Toretto looked surprise. "Of course we did. I mean, I think we were the fifth UEG colony?"

"Well, when Harmony was colonized, my ancestors didn't get any support from the UEG. The UEG terraformed the planet, provided passage routes for a bunch of colonist from Balkan region, and that was about it. My ancestors had to develop the planet by themselves. If they wanted anything, they had to do it themselves. They wanted roads? Not only did they have to building it themselves, they had to mine the material to building the machines that end up building the road. They wanted to not starve to death? They had to clear fields, plant the crops, and harvest it themselves."

"UEG didn't provide anything?"

"Well." Io struggled to remember her history lessons. "They did provide some prefab shelters, but that was it. Heck, my ancestors had to hire their own ships to leave Earth. But the point is, Harmony developed independently from the UEG. We don't ask for anything from the UEG, and we don't expect anything from the UEG. Yet, the UEG expects us to pay taxes for social programs that don't even help us? Provide manpower for the UNSC so they can provide security for other colonies we don't have anything to do with? Obey their laws when about half of them don't even apply to us? It's a one sided relationship, and you wonder why we want to leave? Bottom line is, there is no reason for us to stay."

"But what about the Covenant?" Toretto protested. "Humanity is on the brink of destruction. The split-lips don't care if they kill UNSC soldiers or Innie soldiers. We're all scum to them. What we need at this point is to stand together. We can't do all that with all this in-fighting."

"This is true," Io conceded. "But it's not like anyone could have predicted the likes of the Covenant when we first tried to cede from the UEG."

"But what about now? I mean, you said it yourself. You wouldn't be here if it weren't for ONI."

Io sighed. "Okay, I might have misspoken when I said that. It's, it's really because most people don't understand the threat of the Covenant. We don't know how bad it is. I know on Harmony at least, we're too far away to receive any of the refugees that come from the other colonies that got glassed. I mean, UNSC tells us its bad, but then we see the news, you know what we see? Government officials telling us that everything is under control. And the blame for that miscommunication can be laid right at the feet of ONI because they're the ones who control the media. They're the ones who tell us everything is alright. So, we've got the UEG telling us things are bad, we need to make peace. Then we get ONI telling us things **aren't** bad. And then they also continue to run missions against us. So, my people see this, and they go, well if it was as bad as the UEG is saying, then ONI would stop sending their murdering Spartans to assassinate our people. But they don't, so we continue to resist."

"I guess it's one of those lose lose situation," Toretto mused. "If ONI were to tell people how bad it really is, people would panic. There would be chaos in the streets. People would be rioting. But at the same time, by not telling people how bad it really is, we get a situation like this where people are maintaining the status quo."

"I'll tell you this much: having seen the Covenant and what they can do first hand, my people would be willing to fight them alongside the UNSC," Io stated confidently. "All the UEG, well, I guess it would be the UNSC at this point. But all they would have to do is tell my leaders that we will guarantee your independence after the war against the Covenant ends. We will treat you like a sovereign nation and an ally. And just like that, our part of the Insurgence would end overnight. But that will never happen because this war isn't about who's right, it's about power. And like all dictators in history, the moment they start to lose it, they cling to it that much tighter."

"I have to admit, this is probably the most interesting conversation I've had in a very long time," Toretto mused. "I've never heard this side of the story." A thoughtful look crossed his face. "Wait, what do you mean 'murderous Spartans?' Spartans are heroes. They are the shield that protects the rest of us from the Covenant. If it weren't for them, this war would be so much worse. I mean, talk to half the veterans around here. They've all got stories about how their unit was saved by Spartans."

"Shields for the UNSC maybe," Io replied. "But for those of us who aren't part of the select few, Spartans are the terror troops of the UNSC."

"Spartans have been running missions against the Covenant since their inception," Toretto argued. "How could they have time to fight the Innies?"

"According to whom?" Io pointed out. "The UNSC is the only ones who decided who gets to know what about the Spartans. And the last thing they would want is for people to know they're using Spartans against other humans. If people knew that the UNSC was willing to use those monsters against people who don't swallow every single bit of UNSC propaganda just to hold on to their power, people would start to wonder what else the UNSC would be willing to do."

"No, I don't believe it," Toretto said, shaking his head. "First off, why would the UNSC risk a Spartan getting injured fighting Innies? No offense but you guys just aren't dangerous enough to warrant a Spartan team deployed against you."

"That's my point!" Io said, tossing her arms in the air for emphasis. "There is absolutely to reason for Spartans to be used against us. But they are!"

"Have you seen them?" Toretto challenged. "I mean, with your own eyes? Or seen camera footage? Pictures even?"

Io hesitated. "No," she finally admitted.

"Then how do you even know Spartans fighting Innies?" Toretto pressed.

"I've heard stories," Io began before she was interrupted.

"Stories? How can you rely on stores? People exaggerate you know. Or outright lie."

"These stories have come directly from some very reliable people who have seen Spartans first hand!"

"Does your people even know what a Spartan looks like? I mean aside from some vague descriptions?"

"From what I've heard, it's not exactly hard to miss a Spartan."

Toretto vigorously shook his head. "That's not what I asked. If I gave you a data pad right now, could you draw me a picture of Spartan?"

"Could you?" Io countered.

"Yes," Toretto said simply, but confidently.

"And you've known about Spartans for what, a couple of years?"

"Well, yes, but I've heard stor…" A triumphant look crossed Io's face as Toretto stopped short.

"So, if you could draw a picture based only on what you've seen officially for two years and a bunch of vague stories, what makes you think we couldn't? I mean, we've known about Spartans for decades."

"Fire," Toretto said irritably. "Let me ask you a different question then. These stories, they're about battles, right? Spartans in action?"

"Yes," Io said cautiously.

"You've been a firefight before, haven't you? You should that under that much stress, it's hard to comprehend just what you are seeing. Sometimes, you think you see one thing but in reality, it's a different thing entirely. Couple that with the fact that even high speed cameras have a hard time catching Spartans in action? I have to say, your friends' claims are cause for a lot of skepticism." Toretto held up his hand to forestall Io's counter-argument. "Maybe your friends are the most trustworthy people on your world. Maybe they've never told a lie in their life. I don't know, I don't know them. And I'm not saying they're liars. Maybe they truly do think they saw Spartans. But I think the more likely scenario is that they saw ODSTs in action. From a distance, they do look alike you know and ONI for years told people they had been rescued by a team of ODSTs testing out some prototype armor."

"Okay fine. Maybe you're right. Why don't I tell you a story I heard and let you judge for yourself then?"

At Toretto's nod, Io continued. "A couple of years ago, an Insurrectionist group formed in the Negev Lake Providence on the New Jerusalem colony. Typical story, they had enough of the UNSC meddling and decided to do something about it. They gathered weapons and supplies, formed a militia, and set up a camp somewhere on the outskirts of Negev City. A group of militants decide to go into town one night, you know, for some leave. They got drunk, spent the night, stayed for some breakfast, and went back to the camp. They were away from the camp for at most, twelve hours. When they came back to their camp, they found that every single militia in that camp had been killed. Three hundred people, total. And a lot of these guys weren't amateurs. Some of them had been UNSC military personnel and they had weapons. A search was initiated in a fifty meter radius around the camp because you know, they figured, whoever did this had to be around, and had to be wounded. You know what they found?"

"What?" Toretto asked curious.

"A single, UNSC built, drop pod." Io stared at Toretto seriously. "Now, who do you know could kill three hundred highly trained, well-equipped soldiers in a single night, by themselves? Tell me, that wasn't a Spartan."

Toretto looked skeptical. "It could have been an orbital strike."

Io shook her head. "All the buildings were intact."

"Maybe it was some sort of suicide pact?"

Io cocked an eyebrow. "Really? That's what you're going with? Besides, most of the bodies were found lying in their cots with their throats slashed."

"Maybe it was an animal."

Io snorted. "You know of an animal that would kill three hundred armed humans and not eat any of them?"

"Well I don't know this colony," Toretto protested. "For all I know, Bigfoot lives there."

"That doesn't make sense."

"Makes more sense than Spartans being used to fight against Innies."

"What? It makes a lot of sense if you realize Spartans are just a bunch of butchers."

"Which they aren't," Toretto said stubbornly.

"You know what I thinking?" Io said slightly annoyed. "I think the reason why you are arguing this point with me is because you so pumped full of UNSC propaganda, you refuse to acknowledge the facts right in front of your face."

"You know what **I **think?" Toretto retorted. "I think you are so blinded by your hatred of the UNSC, you are refusing to acknowledge that they might have actually done some good in this galaxy, unlike the Innies."

"Good? Spartans are a bunch of psychopathic murders who torture and butcher their way through my people but are too cowardly to owe up to it so they hide their faces!"

"Kind of like the Innies who are too cowardly to fight us head on so they choose to blow up civilians who can't fight back?"

"My boyfriend was murdered by a Spartan!" Io bellowed before clamping her hands over her mouth. She hadn't meant to say that.

"Well," Toretto said quietly. "My three year old niece was saved by a Spartan. And that's not something a murder would do."

They lapsed into silent. The silence was filled by explosions, coming from somewhere inside the city.

"Well," Io said slowly. "I guess this is something we're just going to have to disagree on."

"ALRIGHT, PACK IT IN!"

They both jumped at the sound of their platoon sergeant yelling in the distance. Toretto glanced down at the spare Warthog tire at his feet.

"Well," he said, "I'm going to go bring this to the truck." He started to walk away before turning back to her. "You know," he began with an odd look on his face. "If I really am bothering you, you can tell me and I'll leave you alone. I meant what I said; I am trying to be your friend but I'm not going to force it on you."

Io took a moment to think it over. Sure Toretto was annoyingly cheerful all the time, always around, and a UNSC apologist. But at the same time, he wasn't as stupid as she thought he was, he at least had a reason for his thinking, and he was willing to listen to her side of the story before presenting a counter argument, which was more than she could say about a lot of other people. Maybe if she worked hard enough, she could convince him that the UNSC wasn't as good and saintly as he thought it was, and actually do something useful with her time here.

"I think," she said slowly, "it's like you said. Everybody could use a friend." She suddenly grinned and injected a light tone in her voice. "Even if you are a fascist bastard."

Toretto grinned back. "I'll be sure to wear my jackboots next time I come around. See you later."

"Yeah," Io said to herself as he walked away. "I guess you will."

* * *

**Author's note: So, while we've heard a lot about the Insurgency in the books, the games (more in the books than the games), and even in fanfiction, all of it is viewed through the eyes of the UNSC. I'm might be wrong, but I personally have not seen any stories set in the perspective of the Insurgency. So, I thought it would be interesting to do a chapter doing just that.**

**The argument between UNSC and Innies was partially influenced by arguments I've seen on the internet, specifically arguments about WW2, Vietnam War, War on Terror, etc.**

**Far Isle is an actual incident in the Halo Universe. Apparently there mention of the incident in some of the Halo books. There's an article about it on Halopedia. It's short but it exist. There are also some mention of some pretty serious Innie attacks on UNSC colonies that are also mentioned on Halopedia, I just didn't include them. Why? I'm not sure because the other war crimes mentioned are stuff I made up.**

**Also, Harmony is also a real planet/colony in the Halo universe as according to Halopedia but there's not much information about it. It's know that there is an Insurrectionist cell on the colony, but that's about it. I actually created the character of Io Manatou first before deciding the background of Harmony should be that it was settled by people from the Balkans (Io Manatou is a Greek name… I think. I Wikipedia the format of Greek names but I'm not sure if I did it correctly.)**


	3. Chapter 3: Dreamer

**Dreamer**

Out of all the things Senior Airman Eelis Rautio should be focusing on, all he could think about was the smell. It was strange though. Did he really need to take note of the smell of stale sweat in the air, reminding him of an old locker room? Or the odor of spent gunpowder, smelling a bit like hot metal, burnt dirt, with a hint of charcoal? Or even the smell of discharged plasma, the acrid aroma of ozone causing his nostrils to flare? He supposed it made sense; after all, it wasn't like he could avoid it. Every breath he took forced another dozen scents up his nostrils. But seeing as how he was knee deep in bodies, the smell of the battlefield should have been the last thing on his mind.

An inhuman groaning caught his attention and Eelis gripped his M45 Tactical Shotgun tighter, looking for the source. He noticed a destroyed Warthog shaking slightly a couple of meters away and cautiously, Eelis walked over to investigate. Underneath the Warthog was a Jackal. The Jackal's legs were trapped under one of the tires of the Warthog and the Jackal was trying with all his might to lift the destroyed hulk off himself. But seeing as how the Jackal was missing an arm, this didn't seem likely to happen anytime soon.

Eelis stood there for several long moments, a safe distance away, watching as the Jackal struggled, before deciding to do something about it. Hefting his shotgun, Eelis walked over to the Jackal. The Jackal noticed his approach and snarled at him, abandoning his struggle with the Warthog. His solo arm patted the ground around him, searching for a weapon to use but Eelis wasn't worried: he had made sure there were no weapons within arm's reach of the Jackal.

Stopping just out of arms reach of the Jackal, Eelis lifted his shotgun. The stock of his shotgun had been damaged early in the firefight by shrapnel, forcing Eelis to fire it from the hip like an action hero in a B-rated movie. The Jackal snarled helplessly at Eelis and shouted something in his alien language; Eelis had no idea what the Jackal said but assumed the Jackal was shouting insults. Eelis waited until the Jackal ran out of breath before pulling the trigger on his shotgun. The recoil of the 10 gauge buckshot nearly ripped the shotgun out of his hands, but he managed to keep his grip. He racked the pump, the spent shell landing on the ground with a clatter, and watched impassively as the Jackal's dark purple blood pooled on the ground around the pulpy mess of his head before walking away.

He wandered aimlessly through the battlefield, occasionally stopping by a human corpse, hoping to find someone that was still alive. None were, and all Eelis could do was shaking his sadly shake his head, collect their dog tags, and move on. The state some of these bodies were in though, was horrifying and Eelis couldn't help but wonder: his entire Flight had been decimated, his friends killed and their bodies mangled beyond recognition. How was it then, he had managed to survive with minimal injury? He had hardly been the strongest fighter in his Flight, the most intelligence, or even the best looking. Yet, he was the one walking around under his own power while everyone else was laying on the ground for all eternity? It didn't seem fair.

Another groan stopped him short. He recognized that voice. It was Nelson's voice. A cold hand of terror gripped his heart. He hadn't seen Nelson in a couple of hours. Where was he?

"Nelson!" Eelis called, throwing all caution to the wind. He twisted his head, frantically scanning the field for some sign of his friend. "Nelson! Where are you?"

There was another groan, coming from his right. Eelis took off in that direction, stumbling over broken bodies and discarded weapons. "Nelson!" Eelis hollered as he ran. "You got to tell me where you are!"

He stopped short as a bloody hand was raised from underneath a pile of bodies. Eelis ran over to the pile, tossing his shotgun to the side.

"Hang on buddy!" Eelis yelled, as he began digging through the bodies. "Just hang on, I'm coming!"

He shoved aside a headless Grunt and then picked up what looked like the hood of a Warthog. His fear giving him strength, he hurtled it to the side like it was made of aluminum, finally revealing the bloody form of Nelson. He was not in good shape. He had a smoking hole in his chest, part of his armor appeared to have melted into his skin, bloody red burns covered his lower jaw and chin, both his legs appeared to be broken, and he was missing his entire left arm. Eelis stood there gapping, before his training kicked in.

"Hey there Nelson," Eelis told him as he dropped beside him, Nelson's eyes following his every move. "Looking good there."

Nelson might have chuckled, but all that came out was a gasping noise. That was not good.

"Hang on there buddy," Eelis said, reaching for the cans of biofoam he stored in his IFAK [infantry first aid kit], only to remember he had lost his IFAK hours ago. He checked to see if Nelson still had his IFAK but it too was gone. "I got you."

Fortunately not all was lost; Eelis had been a boy scout when he was younger and knew how to bandage a wound. Seizing a sharp piece of metal off the ground, Eelis cut the sleeve off his uniform and began tearing it into strips.

"Don't worry Nelson," Eelis told him as he began bandaging Nelson's stump of an arm. Unlike the hole in his chest, which appeared to have been hit by plasma, Nelson's arm appeared to have been severed by shrapnel and blood was slowly leaking out. Too slowly for Eelis' liking. "You're okay. I'm just going to patch you up, okay?"

Nelson took a raggedy breath and rasped out something.

"What?" Eelis asked, leaning his head closer.

Nelson coughed before trying again. "-urt," he whispered weakly.

"Hurts?" Eelis asked and Nelson blinked twice, which Eelis took as a 'yes.' "I know it hurts. But you just got to hang on, okay? Our guys are coming, they're going to bring you to a hospital where they're going to fix you right up."

Nelson tried to say something else but all that came out was a moan of pain.

"Hey," Eelis chided. "Don't try to speak. Save your energy."

Nelson ignored him. Eelis watched as his mouth open once or twice before he gathered enough air to whisper something.

"Nelson?"

"NELSON!"

* * *

Staff Sergeant Eelis Rautio woke with a start, tears welling in his eyes. He struggled to contain his emotions as the last image he had of his best friend, Airman First Class Pramod Nelson, hovered in his mind's eye. It may have been almost six months since Nelson had died on that planet, but his face and last words still haunted Eelis' dreams almost every night. Rationally, Eelis knew there was nothing he could have done to prevent Nelson's death; he had consulted with a doctor, telling the man what he could remember of Nelson's injuries. The doctor had confirmed: even if there had been a full surgical team work on him on the spot, there was no way Nelson could have survive to reach the extraction point. But still, even armed with that knowledge, Eelis couldn't help but wonder if there was something he could have done, something different, to at least ease his pain.

Emotions in check and knowing that he wasn't going to back to sleep, Eelis sat up in his cot, shrugged his blanket off himself. He waited until his eyes had adjusted to the darkness before looking around his current living space. He was billeted in the pre-fab shelter that made up his squadron's armory. Originally, he'd been living in a barrack style tent with the other thirty some members of his flight but at his request, and due to his nightmares, his commanding officer allowed him to sleep alone in the armory.

It was weird, sleeping alone in his own room. All his life he always shared a bedroom with someone. Growing up, in order to save money, his parents rented a small apartment that only had two bedrooms so he had to share a room with his two older brothers. Joining the Air Force hadn't changed anything; in basic training, he lived in a barracks style room; his first unit had dorm room style housing so he had a roommate. Even when deployed out in the field he shared a foxhole with at least one other guy. Eelis still hadn't quite gotten used to the silence that greeted him every time he woke up.

But then again, there were benefits to having his own tent. He no longer woke up in the middle of the night due to someone's snoring. He no longer had to deal with anyone else's mess besides his own. And the smell. No longer did it smell like week old gym socks or someone's bad breath. It was now his own, good or bad, scent that filtered through everything. And plus, as his squadron's small arms armorer, living in the armory meant he could pretty much choose his own hours to work as his commanding officers knew he would always be there.

Sliding off his cot, Eelis walked over to his foot locker and checked to make sure it was still there. Seeing the familiar cherry oak wood box, Eelis gently closed his foot locker and walked back to his cot. He put on his combat boots. He didn't have to worry about getting dressed; this camp may have been fifty kilometers away from the front line but Eelis had made it a habit to go to bed fully dressed in his fatigues just in case the Covenant broke through in the middle of the night and he was called in to fight. It had happened once before so it wasn't like he was being overly cautious.

His boots secured, he climbed off the cot and headed to the back of the room, pulling out the key that would unlock the armory door from around his neck. With the Covenant this close, not too many firearms were being stored here as all personnel on the base were required to keep their issued firearms close, but the few rifles and pistols that were stored in the armory, command wanted to make sure they didn't walk. Hence the locks and the metal pre-fabricated shelter, as opposed to the cloth tents that made up most of the rest of the base.

Sticking the key into the keyhole and turning it, Eelis pushed open the door, the door opening with a low _creak_. He flicked on the lights, revealing three shelving units in the center of the room, two of which held thirty MA37 assault rifles and ten M392 DMRs, while the third held fifteen M6G pistols and two M7 SMGs. To the right of the door, a work table with spare weapon parts had been set up and pushed up against the wall. On the other side of the room, a small bullet proof window had been installed into the back wall with a small opening at the bottom of the frame from where Eelis could hand out firearms. There was no ammunition; for safety reasons, ammunition was stored in a central place in a different building somewhere else.

Shutting the door behind him, the lock engaging with a small _click_, Eelis headed to the work table to see what he had to do. When a firearm was issued out, the receiver of said firearm was responsible for the maintenance and upkeep of their own firearm, so that meant there wasn't a whole lot for Eelis to work on. However, every now and then, an airman would damage or break his rifle in such a way that it required Eelis' attention. Sitting on his table were three MA37 rifles that fit that description. One rifle had a snapped recoil spring; that was an easy fix and wouldn't take long to repair. Another rifle had a damaged optic; another easy fix. The last rifle however, had a ruptured barrel. Apparently, the airman who had the rifle suffered a squib round malfunction and failed to notice. He had tried to fire another round and the pressure exceeded the barrel's tolerance. The airman was lucky the entire rifle didn't blow up but part of Eelis wished it had. Out of all the repairs he had today, that would take the longest as he would have to completely dismantle the rifle just to reach the barrel.

Also sitting on his table were another four MA37 rifles and two MA5 assault rifles. Sometimes when bodies were recovered, their weapons were recovered too. Normally the weapons would be returned to the unit that owned them but if said unit had been destroyed, the weapons would be given to the next available unit. The conditions of these weapons varied: sometimes they could be put into immediate usage, sometimes all an armorer could do was strip them down for parts. Of the six rifles Eelis had received, one MA5 could be immediately thrown back into circulation (once he relabeled it,) one MA37 and one MA5 rifles were trashed complete, one needed to be cleaned, and the last two need some repairs.

Sliding his stool out from underneath the table, Eelis sat down to begin working. He began with stripping down the destroyed rifles, figuring he was going to need the parts today. One rifle had been hit by plasma fire; the polymer housing of the lower receiver had melted, damaging the interior. The other rifle had been neatly cut in half. He wasn't sure how that happened, maybe the result of a Brute's Warhammer? But either way, Eelis salvaged what he could and began working on the other rifles.

As he was apt to do when working, Eelis quickly lost track of time. By the time he was racking the slide on the last rifle, checking the strength of the recoil spring, the sun was beginning to rise and his stomach was grumbling with hunger. The mess hall was probably open at this point so Eelis decided now was a good time to stop and get some breakfast. Sticking the repaired rifles on the racks, he exited the armory, making sure the door was shut behind him, and walked back to his cot. Grabbing his own issued rifle from the mount beside his bed, Eelis double checked to make sure it was in condition one: round chambered and the weapon on safe. Tossing the sling over his shoulder (no magnetic strips for rear echelon troops,) Eelis strolled out into the sunlight.

With the sun up in the sky, the base was now bustling with activity. Well, so to speak. Technically the base never stopped operations; with the Covenant never taking a break from the fighting, the UNSC couldn't either so one quickly got use to sleeping with the sounds of aircraft flying overhead, trucks rumbling passed at odd hours, the thumping of artillery in the distance, and the occasional shrieking of Covenant Banshees followed by the buzzing of anti-aircraft artillery driving them off. It made for one rather interesting soundtrack.

His feet took him down the familiar gravel path to the mess hall. As he walked, Eelis noted, as he did every morning, the large cordoned off area in the base was still there. Sitting in the middle of the cordoned area was a large, purple, spiky pickle like object about the size of a small car. A present the Covenant had left behind last time they had managed to break through the lines: an anti-matter bomb. Like always, a swarm of EOD technicians from all four branches, along with spooks from the likes of ONI, the Army's Intelligence Support Activity (ISA), and the Air Force Intelligence, Surveillance, and Reconnaissance Agency (ISR Agency), surrounded the bomb, trying to determine just how it worked. They were sure the bomb wasn't going to go off anytime soon, either by remote detonation or by timer, but that was about all they knew. No one was entirely sure how to render the bomb safe and no one wanted to risk moving it just yet in case it was sensitive to movement.

Eelis had to admit, sometimes he wondered what it would be like if it do go off. It would certainly make things less complicated. The end would come fast; he doubted, as close as he was to ground zero, that he would even see it coming. In many ways, it would exactly how Eelis would want to go. Quick, easy, and painless. He wouldn't have to suffer. Not the way Nelson did.

Eelis abruptly froze. For a brief moment, he could have sworn he saw Nelson's face, clean and undamaged by days of warfare, standing among the crowd, looking at him. Eelis quickly rubbed his eyes and looked again, but the face was gone.

It couldn't have been Nelson. Nelson was dead. Eelis had seen Nelson die. He was just imagining things. He was just seeing Nelson's face because he'd been thinking about him. And he had a dream about him again. That had to be the reason. There was no other explanation.

Nonetheless, Eelis no longer felt hungry.

* * *

"Convoy escort!"

Senior Airman Eelis Rautio looked up from the data pad he was reading from and cocked an eyebrow in the direction of his best friend, Pramod Nelson. "Excuse me?" he asked with a questioning air even though he knew exactly what Nelson was talking about.

"They're putting on convoy escort duty," Nelson complained as he threw himself into the cot next to Eelis. "We'll be escorting supply convoys to the front. Fucking escort duty."

"Yeah? So?" Eelis asked, a bit confused. "It's an important job. What's the problem?"

"The problem is," Nelson complained, "when they told us we were going to see combat, I thought they meant, we were actually going to see combat! But no, instead, we'll be escorting fucking POGs to the front."

"Okay," Eelis began, looking back at his datapad. "First off, we are POGs. We fit every single definition of the term 'POG' so by implying POGs are somehow the lesser, you are insulting every single person in these barracks. Second, if you wanted to see combat, why the hell are you in the Air Force? You should have joined the Army or the fucking Marines. Be one of the numb nut grunts running around pretending to be a Spartan."

"Because all the hot chicks join the Air Force," Nelson admitted shamelessly. "If I was going to join the military, I wanted to be able to at least score every now and then."

"And how's that going for you?" Eelis asked him with a barely concealed grin. He knew exactly how well it was going for Nelson. "Have you, how do the Marines put it? Have you 'got some' yet?"

Nelson turned red. "It's a work in progress, okay?" he protested. "I just, you know, have high standards. I can't help it, with a body like this, I can afford to be choosy."

"Oh is that what you told the last four women?" Eelis noted, flipping the page on his data pad. "No wonder they all slapped you. Word of advice, you might not want to say stuff like that to them."

Nelson flushed again. "What would you know about women Rautio?" he said defensively. "You've had like, one girlfriend your entire life."

"Enough to know that despite what they say, every single one of them wants to be better than the last woman you were with. Telling them that they compare unfavorably? That's a big no-no."

"Oh look at you, Senior Airman Rautio. Not only is he part of the Air Forces' elite Security Forces, he also moonlights as a dating guru," Nelson mocked.

Eelis shrugged. "Hey, if you don't want to take my advice, then don't. That suits me just fine. Watching you get slapped every time we go to the bar is just free entertainment for me."

From the corner of his eye, Eelis watched as Nelson turned red again. Evidently he didn't want to reflect on his failure to obtain a woman any longer because he continued to complete about their upcoming mission. "But escort duty? Why escort duty? Escort duty sucks."

"You've never been on one," Eelis pointed out. "How would you know they suck?"

Nelson waved his hand, as if he could wave Eelis' point away. "I've played enough games to know that escort missions? Suck with a capital 'S.'"

"It's an important mission," Eelis argued. "Somebody has got to make sure the ammunition makes it safety to where it's needed. Besides, it beats writing tickets for dumbass 2nd Lieutenants who think, just because they're officers, they can park where the fuck they want. Or that they can drink and drive. Seriously, not even generals can get away with that shit. What makes them think they can?"

"It's because half of those butterbars are entailed motherfuckers who've never had to work a day in their lives," Nelson explained. "Rich people man. I'd like to see them grow up in the conditions you and I had to. Having to take the bus to school because our parents couldn't afford to buy us cars, having to get a job flipping burgers during the holidays. Bet half of them would have killed themselves before they turned ten."

Eelis glared at him. "Dude, that's not funny. You shouldn't say that shit."

"What?" Nelson said defensively. "You know it's true."

"No dude, not that. Suicide. Don't joke about that. Suicide is serious business."

Nelson opened him mouth to retort but most have remembered the fact that Eelis' grandfather had commit suicide because his mouth closed with an audible _clack. _"Sorry," was what he said instead.

"Its fine," Eelis said dismissively, turning his attention back to his datapad. "Don't worry about it."

Silence reined for a few seconds before Nelson opened his mouth again. "But seriously, convoy escort! Why convoy escort? You know, I bet I'm not even going to get a chance to fire my rifle once!"

Eelis face palmed and sighed.

* * *

"Stand by, stand by, TARGET!"

Sixteen airmen lifted their sidearms. Sixteen M6G magnum pistols roared to life. Eelis walked behind them, watching their technique. Pulling a whistle from around his neck, Eelis blew on it sharply.

"Cease fire!" Eelis hollered and waited for the gunshots to fade away. "Clear and holster your weapons!" Removing his ear protection, Eelis walked down the line, giving critiques.

"Airman Renald," Eelis called out to an airman who was shaking his thumb, which now had a fresh cut across his knuckle. "That's call a slide bite. That's what happens when you cross your thumbs like that. Use the thumbs forward grip, like this!" Eelis pulled out his own pistol and showed him the proper technique of holding the pistol.

"Airman Silva!" Eelis turned his attention to the next airman. "Congratulations! Your failure to feed is the result of limp wrist! Stop being afraid of the damn recoil and tighten your grip!"

As part of his job as a Security Forces armorer, Eelis was also responsible for teaching small arms training to other airmen in the Air Force. While all of his fellow Security Forces airmen were highly trained in the usage of small arms and crew served weapons, the Air Force did have a number of support personnel who, during the course of their career, were only ever expected to fire a weapon in basic training. But, given the fact they were still relatively close to the front, command had decreed all personnel had to be armed at all times, which meant having to reteach some people the basics of firing a weapon. Today he was teaching a bunch of military intelligence analyst. Eelis sure hoped they were really good at their jobs because they sure as hell weren't snipers. To be fair, this group wasn't the worst he'd ever seen; he had yet to see a single of one them try to insert their magazines in backwards.

"Airman Matthews," Eelis continued to say. "This is not a firearms inspection, you don't need to stand with your back like a ramrod! Bend forward slightly into the recoil. You'll get more consistent groupings that way."

Eelis reached the last man on the line. "And you, Airman…" he hesitated as he realized he didn't remember the man's name. "What the hell is your name Airman?"

"Nelsen, Staff Sergeant. Senior Airman Thomas Nelsen."

Eelis was no longer listening as he had automatically froze at the mention of the name Nelson. He briefly wondering if this was one of Pramod Nelson's relatives. He knew Nelson came from a large family, but Eelis had never met them in person before Nelson had died, and he had gone out of his way to avoid meeting any of them after Nelson had died. Why? Eelis honestly wasn't sure. Maybe he felt guilty for surviving when Nelson didn't (he did.) Maybe it was because he knew they would ask him how Nelson died and he wasn't willing, or ready, to talk about that yet.

"Sergeant?"

With a start, Eelis came to his senses and realized that there was no way this Airman Nelsen could be related to Pramod. For one thing, looking at his nametag, Eelis realized this Nelsen spelled his name with an "E" as opposed to an "O." Also, the fact that this Nelsen was a redhead white man while Pramod had been a full blooded Tibetan was also a clue.

"Sergeant Rautio, are you okay?"

Eelis mentally shook his shock off. "I'm fine Airman, but you aren't," he told Nelsen. "What the hell happened here?" he gestured at the target they were supposed to be shooting at.

The target was a paper silhouette of an Elite and positioned roughly three meters away from the firing line. Unrealistic as hell because if an Elite ever got that close, then they would all already be dead. But the point behind the silhouette was more target recognition than any attempt at realism. The target they were supposed to be shooting was a white circle, roughly fifteen centimeters in diameter, positioned in the center of the Elite's head. It was an easy target, one that Eelis could probably hit even with his eyes closed, and he was no marksman. Yet somehow, this Airman Thomas (he just couldn't call him Nelsen, not even his head; it was sending chills down his spine to do so) had managed to miss every single shot. Furthermore, Eelis could only count six bullet holes in the body of the silhouette; an M6G pistol carried eight rounds in the magazine which meant not only did Airman Thomas miss the target he was supposed to be shooting at, he had somehow managed to miss the silhouette entirely with two bullets.

Airman Thomas frowned at Eelis' tone. "The sights on this pistol are fucked, Sergeant," he said a bit defensively.

Eelis resisted the urge to face palm. "'The sights on this pistol are fucked,'" Eelis repeated. He turned to face the rest of the line. "There is one pet peeve of mine that I'd like to share with all of you which is this: operators blaming their poor performance on their equipment!"

Eelis turned back to Airman Thomas, who was decidedly looking uncomfortable. "Airman, this is the weapon that you've had since you got here, is it not?"

"Um, yes Sergeant, it is," Airman Thomas answered hesitantly.

"Did I, or did I not make you all zero your sights before bring you here to this range?"

"You did Sergeant," Airman Thomas answered with a bit of reluctance.

"Were the sights working or were they not when you were supposed to be zeroing them in?"

"They were Sergeant." At this point, Airman Thomas looked like he was wishing the ground would rise up and swallow him alive.

"So explain to me Airman Thomas, because I don't quite understand." If Thomas noted the usage of his first name as opposed to his last name, he was smart enough not to comment on it. "How your gun sights have manage to FUCK UP in the fifteen minutes since we zeroed them?"

Airman Thomas was silent, which was good because Eelis wasn't finished yet. "I ask, Airman, because I've been working with firearms for the last, oh, six years? And I have never heard of this phenomenon, so I'd like to understand how this could have happened."

"The sights on my sidearm aren't fucked up Sergeant," Thomas said quietly. "I just have poor aim."

"Now that seems more logical, doesn't it?" Eelis asked him. "But now that we know what the problem is, we can fix it!"

From the corner of his eye, Eelis noticed an officer gesturing at him from the safety glass on the other side of the range. Eelis mentally sighed.

"Everybody, make sure your weapons are unloaded. No firing," Eelis ordered. "I have to go talk to someone really quickly. Take this moment to practice your grip. Airmans Thornberry, Dotse, and Harrigan, you all have a pretty good grasp on how to fire your pistol, so help your comrades work on theirs." He glanced at Thomas. "We'll discuss techniques on how to improve your aim when I get back."

Without waiting for an acknowledgement, Eelis jogged back to the firing hut where a naval officer was waiting for him.

"Commander Farkas," Eelis greeted. The hut was essentially a sheet of tin sitting on some stilts but Eelis figured it still counted as indoors so he didn't bother saluting. "Am I missing something sir? I thought our next session was this Friday."

Lieutenant Commander Tomas Farkas was the psychiatrist who was helping Eelis deal with his post-traumatic stress. At first he couldn't quite understand why he'd been assigned a Navy psychiatrist, as opposed to an Air Force one, but he quickly realized that all military psychiatrist were the same, the only difference was the color of the uniform they wore. Farkas had probably been chosen because the military probably thought he was the best psychiatrist to help his case. Eelis had seen Farkas for several weeks prior to the Covenant invasion (this planet was Eelis' unit's garrison planet, so he'd been here when the Covenant attacked,) and he had thought his therapy sessions would end with the Covenant offensive, but evidently the military had decided he could still do his job and attend his therapy sessions at the same time.

"No, you are correct," Farkas assured him. "I was just in the neighborhood, thought I would swing by and see what was going on." He nodded in the direction of the airman milling around on the range. "I thought there were simulators specifically designed for this sort of thing?"

Eelis shrugged indifferently. "There are sir, but I always felt that firing live rounds down range beat firing simulated rounds any day."

"Interesting," Farkas commented. "You know, come to think of it, I don't think I've ever fired a live round while serving in the military. Only ever received simulated training."

Eelis didn't quite know what to say to that. "Well," he finally said politely, "that's not exactly your job, is it? Your job is to make sure guys like me are well enough to prevent events from spiraling downwards to the point where you need to hump a rifle."

"And speaking of my job," Farkas prompted. "How are you feeling? You look a little tired. Have you been sleeping?"

Eelis thought about his dreams and was tempted to not bring them up. But at the same time, he did want to get better and this did seem like the best way to do so. "Well, I don't really want to get into too much detail, especially with them around," he gestured to his class, "but I haven't exactly been able to sleep through the night."

"Dreaming about your friend?" Farkas asked gently.

"Well, yes," Eelis admitted, shifting uncomfortably.

Farkas seemed to get the hint. "Well, we can discuss this more in detail during our next session," he told Eelis. "However, as you probably guessed, I did come down here with an ulterior motive in mind. Do you remember your friend, Corporal Isaac Ishmael?"

Eelis scratched his chin. "With all due respect sir, I wouldn't exactly call Ishmael my friend. I mean, we're not even in the same military branch."

"But you did fight together," Farkas pointed out. "Fought and bleed together. Some would argue that would make you comrades, brothers in arms almost."

"Sure," Eelis said after a moment's thought. "Comrades, okay. But it's not like I know him sir. I mean, we didn't exactly have time for idle chitchat when the plasma was flying, and we didn't really see each other too much after we left that planet." He fixed Farkas with a questioning look. "Why bring him up if you don't mind me asking sir?"

Farkas sighed. "It's come to my understanding that Ishmael has been missing out on his therapy sessions. His psychiatrist informs me Ishmael has not been handling the traumatic stress very well and he asked me to reach out to you, see if you would be willing to talk to him. I told him that I would present the request to you, but that I would not force you to do it. So, here we are."

Eelis shuffled uncomfortably at the thought of having to talk about what had happened, even with someone who had been there. Eelis had been trying to avoid thinking about it.

After a long moment of silence, Eelis finally turned to Farkas, who had been waiting for an answer without a hint of impatience. "What do you think sir?"

"Quite honestly, I think it's a good idea," Farkas said sincerely. "It helps sometimes, to talk about what you experienced and many people find it easier to talk to someone who was actually there, or had gone through a similar experience, rather than open up to a complete stranger like me. I know you've been trying to avoid talking about it, but I think this would help both you and Ishmael."

Eelis cleared his throat but he found he couldn't refute anything Farkas had said. "I'll talk to him," he finally said.

Farkas fixed Eelis with a serious stare. "I want to emphasis, you don't have to do this," he told him. "I don't want you to feel like you're being pressured. If you don't feel like you are ready to talk about what happened, then you aren't ready."

"No it's, it's fine Doc," Eelis said. "It's. It's fine."

"Okay then." Farkas looked skeptical but didn't argue with him. "Well, let me know how it goes?"

"Sure thing Doc." Eelis gestured to his class. "I got to get back. See you Friday?"

"Friday it is," Farkas confirmed.

* * *

"Alpha Flight, gather around!"

At the sound of his flight leader's voice, 2nd Lieutenant Nicole Bellawood, Eelis hopped off the bed of the Warthog where he'd been loading the M41 light anti-aircraft gun mounted in the bed of the Warthog. He grabbed his rifle and joined Nelson as they walked to where Bellawood was standing.

"What's going on?" Eelis asked.

Nelson looked excited. "No idea, but I'm thinking we might actually get to see some action!"

Eelis shot him an exasperated look. "What, beating off Banshee raids isn't enough action for you?" For the last couple of weeks, the 555th Security Forces Squadron had been escorting UNSC Army supply convoys to and from the city of Macedonia. The long, slow moving convoys had been targeted almost non-stop by Covenant Banshee's but with the 555th's help, the convoys were at least able to hit back with a vengeance.

Nelson shrugged. "Nah. I promised my baby brother I'd bag a Split-lip for him. Kind of hard to do that when we haven't seen any."

They stopped at the area where the rest of thirty airmen of Alpha Flight, along with the flight sergeant, Technical Sergeant Doge Williams, had joined Bellawood.

"Listen up!" Bellawood called out. "We've got a situation. A small convoy of Army soldiers has gotten lost in the city and somehow, managed to make their way into Covenant controlled territory!" Beside him, Eelis could hear Nelson hiss in excitement. "With this recent Covenant offensive," she paused as somewhere in the distance, the roar of Shortsword engines could be heard, followed by the rumble of explosions in the distance, "the Army is too preoccupied to try and find their lost troopers. So that's where we come in. Our job is to find this lost convoy and bring them back safety."

"How the hell does the Army get lost in this damn city?" Eelis' team leader, Staff Sergeant Kelly Hardtack, asked. Eelis couldn't help but agree. With GPS, recon drones, maps, outpost set up every three hundred meters on the road, and signs all over the damn place, one almost had to try to lose themselves in the city.

Bellawood shook her head. "Apparently they took a series of wrong turns, ran into an ambush, and then got themselves turned around. Fortunately, they had the intelligences to turn their transponders on, which one of our Wombats were able to pick up, so we have a lock on their location." Bellawood pulled out a map and spread it open on the ground. "So, this is where we are. This is where they are. As you can see, they're in the middle of the southern section of the city. Covenant presence there is expected to be light, but it is a city so if we're not careful, they can easily hit us in force. You'll also notice we'll be traveling through some high buildings. Plenty of places for the Covies to ambush us from. So for that matter, Sergeant Williams, I want you to take our two rocket 'Hogs and cover our six and watch the skies for contacts. 2nd Squad will be in front of you guys, watching the ground levels. 1st Squad will be in front of them, watching the rooftops. I'll lead with Flight HQ 'Hogs and we'll cover our twelve. Command has promised us some gunship support, but with the buildings so close together and the air space being contested, I rather not use them. Any questions?"

"How many army troopers should we be expecting?" someone asked.

"It was a Maintenance Squad," Bellawood answered. "Count on two troop transports and two LRV. So about fifteen guys. Any other question?" No one spoke up. "Then mount up!"

"Yes! Finally!" Nelson cheered as he climbed into the passenger seat of their assigned Warthog. "Enough of this Banshee bullshit, I want to kill some real bad guys!"

Eelis shook his head as he took his place behind the Warthog's main gun. "Man, you are way too enthusiastic about this shit," he told him.

Nelson's reply was cut off as Hardtack climbed into the driver's seat and activated the Warthog. "Alright gents," she said. "Let's get this shit done. Rautio, cover the left flank. Nelson, cover the right. We're rolling into a combat zone so we're at condition zero. Rounds chambered, safeties off. That means you Nelson!"

"You don't have to tell me twice Sergeant," Nelson replied, enthusiastically racking the bolt on his MA37. "I've been waiting for this shit since I joined the Air Force."

Any more conversation was cut off as the convoy began moving out. They drove down familiar roads, heading towards the city. As they approached, the sounds of fighting they'd been hearing grew louder and louder, and it was getting harder and harder to pick out individual explosions.

"Damn," Eelis commented after a particularly vicious explosion echoed through the city, causing the roadway to visibly shake. "I wonder who's beating who?"

A loud rumbling caused him to look up. An entire Navy frigate was descending from orbit, her point defense guns spewing orange tracers seemingly at random into the city.

"Wohoo!" Nelson cheered. "Please tell me that's our air support cause that would be fucking bad ass!"

"Nelson, shut up and keep your eyes peel!" Hardtack ordered and Nelson quickly subsided.

The frigate peeled away as they entered the city, and the sounds of fighting lowered to a more reasonable level as the surrounding buildings absorbed most of the sound waves before it could reach their ears. This sector of the city had been hit by either artillery or aircraft fire at some point, but for the most part, it was mostly intact. They drove straight down the road, slow enough they wouldn't miss anything, but fast enough they could probably avoid an ambush. Eelis swiveled his gun around, watching the rooftops, every one of his senses on high alert. He hadn't seen any sign of life, human or otherwise, which he took as a good sign.

Bellawood's voice came over the Warthog's radio. _"Objective located,"_ she said. _"One hundred meters at our twelve, down the road."_

Keeping his gun pointed where it was, Eelis turned his head to look. Sure enough, he could see the smoking ruins of two M831 Troop Transport Warthogs and two M12 LRVs sitting in the middle of a large open traffic circle. Scattered around the circle were what appeared to be badly burned bodies. The Army troopers perhaps?

"That's doesn't look promising," Hardtack said grimly and all Eelis could do was nod.

The convoy drove into the circle.

"Sergeant Williams, take 2nd and 3rd Squads and set up a defensive perimeter!" Bellawood ordered as she leapt from her 'Hog. "1st Squad, on me! Check for survivors!"

Abandoning his machine gun, Eelis hopped from the Warthog. Pulling out his rifle and keeping it at a ready position, he walked over to the nearest body. The body was wearing the battle dress uniform of the UNSC Army, and had taken a direct hit to the face. The superheated plasma had burned away everything and left nothing but a lump of unidentifiable flesh. As Eelis approached, the smell of charred flesh and human excrement hit him and he almost gagged, but he forced it down and knelt by the body. Fishing around the body's neck, he found the soldier's dogtags. PFC Nia Ashraf, the tags read.

"Eelis! I need your help!"

Eelis snapped his head up at the sound of Nelson's voice. Nelson had wandered over to one of the destroyed LRVs and was now trying to lift the Warthog by himself. Eelis quickly jogged over to help but the two of them weren't enough. A couple more airmen quickly came over and together, they were able to lift the Warthog off the ground.

The reason why Nelson was trying to lift the hulk quickly became obvious as a man rolled out from underneath. As soon as the man was clear, Eelis dropped the destroyed vehicle and quickly knelt by the man. The man was wearing a set of Army BDUs and was cradling an injured leg. Eelis noted his name tag read "Ishmael" as he pulled out a can of biofoam from his IFAK.

"It's alright trooper!" Eelis called out. "You're safe now!"

"It's a fucking trap you cunts!" Ishmael spat. "They're on the fucking roof!"

_**FEWWWWWWW! BOOM!**_

One of rocket Warthogs suddenly detonated as a glowing green rocket slammed into it. The Warthog was lifted off the ground as the hydrogen fuel cell and extra ammo exploded. Simultaneous, blue and green bolts began raining down all around them.

"Contact, nine o'clock, up high!" someone bellowed and Eelis turned around, bringing his rifle to bear. He desperately searched for a target but the Covenant had planned their positions well. He couldn't see anything, not even a muzzle flash so he settled for spraying the face of the building with automatic weapons rifle. His rifle quickly clicked empty and as Eelis reloaded, the airman next to him suddenly pitched forward, a smoking hole in the back of his head. Eelis glanced backwards at the road they had come from. A number of Covenant Grunts were dragging tripod mounted plasma cannons and drop shields across the road, trying to cut off their escape.

"Behind us!" Eelis bellowed, and fired rapidly at one of the Grunts hauling a plasma cannon. The Grunt tripped as Eelis kneecapped him, dropping the plasma cannon to the ground but another Grunt quickly bounded over his wounded comrade and scooped up the weapon. Eelis automatically shifted to the new target but the Grunt made it safely behind one of the drop shields, and Eelis' rounds ricocheted into the sky.

"Nelson, Rautio! Grab the trooper!" Bellawood suddenly yelled into his ear and Eelis quickly looked around for Ishmael. He noticed him sitting on the ground. Ishmael had managed to locate a rifle and was firing blindly at the rooftops despite his wounded leg. Eelis and Nelson hurriedly ran over to him.

"Hardtack! Take your squad, secure that building and get me off this fucking street!"

Bellawood's voice abruptly cut off and Eelis turned in time to see Bellawood pitch forward, several purple spikes imbedded in her back. He had to turn away as the spike exploded in a blinding purple light.

"Come on!" Nelson yelled, tugging his arm. "Get off the street!"

* * *

Eelis walked confidently, with his issued body armor on, his rifle slung around his shoulders, his CH252 helmet strapped to his waist, and his blue Security Forces beret proudly planted on his head, to the motor pool where he had been told Ishmael's unit was located. Outside, he thought he looked cool and collected; inside, he was quivering at the thought of this upcoming conversation. He did mean what he said to Farkas, he did want to do this. And he did believe Farkas: this would bound to help him. But dammit it all if he wasn't scared to have to face the things he'd saw.

Realizing that was not a productive line of thought, Eelis shifted his thoughts to Ishmael. Like he had told Farkas, he really didn't know Ishmael at all. In the fight they'd been too busy trying to survive for any sort of small talk; afterwards, they weren't in any mood to hold a conversation. From his impressions though, Ishmael seemed like a decent guy. Eelis wondered how he was holding up.

Reaching the building where Ishmael's unit was, Eelis paused in front of the door, composing himself. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly, then took another one. He reached a hand out but just as he was about to pull the door open, it slammed open, revealing a rather small, brunette woman.

"Yeah, you better fucking run you Innie whore!" someone from inside the room yelled at her, and Eelis dumbly recognized the voice as belonging to Ishmael.

Eelis threw a startled glance at the woman standing in front of him. This woman was an Innie-lover? Eelis didn't know much about the Insurrection, and he wasn't one to make snap judgments so he personally had no strong feelings about the Insurrection and their supporters, but being an open Insurrectionist support around here was probably not the wisest of ideas.

For her part, the woman showed no sign of reaction at being call an Innie-lover, instead looking up at Eelis with an expectant look on her face. Eelis stared back, unsure of what she wanted from him.

With a slight roll of her eyes, she shoved passed him and with a start, Eelis realized he was blocking the doorway. She'd been waiting for him to move out of the way.

With one last confused look at the departing woman, Eelis walked into the motor pool and his eyes immediately picked out Ishmael from the crowd. He hadn't changed much from the last time Eelis had seen him, save for the fact he was no longer covered in blood and gore. Eelis felt a pang of hope; Ishmael looked healthy and fit for action. He didn't look like he'd spent many a sleepless night thinking about the past. Maybe he could help Eelis.

As he approached, one of Ishmael's buddies looked up and nudged Ishmael with his elbow. Ishmael looked up. He snorted.

"What, the fucking whore can't find anyone around here to believe her lies so she went to the Air Force?" Ishmael snarled. "What a fucking bitch. But guess what fucker?" Ishmael stood up and pushed a finger into Eelis' chest, "you don't have jurisdiction over me."

Eelis frowned. Ishmael didn't remember him? Well, that wasn't that surprising, he supposed, given what was going on.

"Isaac Ishmael? I guess you don't remember me. We fought together six months ago?" Eelis watched as a variety of emotions passed over Ishmael's face before his face went blank.

"Oh. Right," was all Ishmael said.

Eelis glanced at Ishamel's buddies who were all listening in with undisguised interest. "Can we talk?" he asked. "In private preferably?"

Ishmael looked disgruntled but nodded nonetheless. "Fine. Come with me."

Ishmael led Eelis to small briefing room branching off from the motor pool. As soon as the door slammed shut, Ishmael whirled on him.

"What the fuck do you want?" he demanded.

Surprised by the amount of hostility Ishmael was displaying, it took a few moments for Eelis to respond. "Eh, to talk?" he answered hesitantly.

"About what?" Ishmael replied with suspicion.

"About the battle. After what we saw and went through," Eelis began but Ishmael quickly cut him off.

"Did my fucking psychiatrist put you up to this?" he demanded to know.

"No! Well, sort of?"

"I told that fucking asshole to fucking leave me alone!" Ishmael yelled. "I don't fucking need help, I don't need some dumbass shrink asking me how I feel! Who fucking cares? What that fucker needs to do is stop asking me how I feel and let me do my fucking job! Dumbass psychiatrist, thinks he knows everything but he's never even seen a Covenant in real life! And he thinks he can help me? Fucking arrogant prick."

Eelis was taken back at the amount of hostility dripping from Ishmael's voice. "Well," Eelis said in a quiet voice, "if you're okay, maybe you could help me?"

"Ah fuck on, you aren't going to trick me!" Ishmael snarled. He leaned in close until he face was almost touching Eelis'. "You go back to that sick fuck and tell him, if he really wants to help, go strap on a rifle, go to the front line, and go help those guys hold back the Covenant. Then he can help. Otherwise, he can go fuck himself!"

With that, Ishmael stored out of the room, shutting the door behind with a loud _SLAM_, leaving behind a very confused Eelis.

* * *

Eelis sat at his work table, his service rifle dismantled on the table in front of him. Taking a slightly oily rag and a ramrod, he shoved it down the barrel of his rifle, wiping the insides clean of any powder residue. After running the rag through several times, he brought the barrel up to his eye line, looking through it to make sure it was cleaned. Verifying it was, he placed it back on the table and removed the bolt assembly from the upper receiver. Disassembling it, he began wiping each part down with the rag, starting with the firing pin.

It was the middle of the night and Eelis should be sleeping. However, another dream had woken him and he had decided to do what he always did when he couldn't sleep: cleaning rifles. There was something about cleaning rifles that helped him relax after a bad night. He wasn't sure what it was; maybe it was the repetition of what he did that helped his mind go into a sort of fugue state. Or maybe it was the fact that it didn't require too much thought, but enough that he needed to concentrate on what he was doing least he screw up that helped silence his mind.

Whatever the case, it was because of this zoned out state it took him quite a bit of time to realize what he was hearing: the sound of something moving around nearby. At first, he paid no mind to it; after all, this base was in operation day and night. But then he realized the noise was coming from about his cot and he got curious. Who would come around here at this time?

Abandoning his rifle, Eelis stood up and walked over to the door of the armory. He pushed it open and froze. Standing over his cot without a hair out of place was **Nelson**.

"What's up Eelis?" he said cheerfully, as if dead people appearing was a common occurrence.

Eelis opened his mouth but found he just couldn't say anything. Nelson seemed not to notice.

"That was one hell of a firefight, wasn't it?" Nelson continued. "Things were really popping off, weren't they?" He suddenly laughed and the noise should have comforted Eelis but all it did was send shivers down his spine. "Man, remember when we were enlisting? What people told us when we said we were going to be Security Forces? They asked, 'why? All you guys are going to be doing is guarding airstrips and checking IDs.' So much for that, huh?"

Nelson seemed to finally realize something was wrong because he cocked his head, like he used to do when he was confused. "What's wrong Eelis? You're all pale and shit, like you've just seen a ghost."

His joke jarred Eelis out of his shock.

"This is a dream," Eelis said with sudden realization. "You are just a figment of my imagination."

Nelson blinked, confusion written all over his face. "Well I'm hurt. What makes you say that?"

"Nelson," Eelis choked over his next words, unwilling to say it.

"Yeah?" Nelson asked cautiously.

"Nelson, you're dead," Eelis finally choked out.

There was a beat.

"Huh." Was all Nelson could say. "Yeah, I suppose you're right." He reached up to scratch his head in confusion but couldn't. Because his arm wasn't there anymore, only a bloody stub. Nelson started at his arm in confusion and then glanced back at Eelis. He opened his mouth to say something but only a choking, raspy sound came out. Eelis knew that sound.

It was the sound of a dying man trying to get air.

To Eelis' horror, the smell of burning flesh started to fill the air and Nelson looked down as a hole was suddenly burned in his chest. He looked back up and Eelis could see that every single cut and bruise that had covered Nelson's face when he died was rapidly forming. Heart racing and close to hyperventilating, Eelis shut his eyes. He could, he **would not **watch Nelson die again.

"Eelis…" he heard Nelson rasp out. "Please…"

Eelis put his hands over his ears, tears pouring his face. "Stop it," he whispered. "Wake up Eelis, wake up!" he chanted.

"Eelis… please…"

"Nelson, GO AWAY!"

_THUD!_

Eelis landed on the ground, the impact jarring him awake. His hand reflexively lashed out, pulling a rifle from a nearby rack. Snapping it to his shoulder, he looked around widely. He was sitting on the ground inside the armory, his disassembled rifle laying on the table in front of him. Evidently he had fallen asleep will cleaning it. He glanced at his watch. It was pretty late. He should really consider going to bed.

With a sense of dread, Eelis glanced at the door leading to his cot.

It was just a dream, he told himself. Nelson isn't there.

…

Just a dream, he told himself.

Nevertheless, Eelis knew he was sleeping in the armory tonight.

* * *

"Doc, why am I so weak?"

Farkas looked up from the datapad he was typing in. "Who told you that?" he asked gently.

Eelis fidgeted in his seat. It was Friday and he had just finished convey his "discussion" with Ishmael to Farkas. "No one told me that doc. Just, the conclusion I came up on my own."

"And how did you come to the conclusion?" Farkas' question held no hint of judgment, yet Eelis struggled to answer.

"I don't really know," Eelis finally said.

"Well, I do," he quickly admitted. "I mean, look at Ishmael. He went through the same stuff that I did. He saw the exact same things I did. He's not haunted by," Eelis hesitated before saying "dreams."

"What makes you so sure?"

"Sorry?" Eelis asked in confusion.

"What makes you so sure Ishmael's not being effected by what he saw?" Farkas clarified.

Eelis was startled. He hadn't really thought about it. "Well, he does his job without hesitation," Eelis said slowly.

"And you don't" Farkas asked politely.

Eelis hesitated. "It's not the same thing," he finally said.

"How so?"

"Well," Eelis said slowly, "what he does is very important for the war effort."

"You'll have to excuse my ignorance," Farkas began, "however I feel teaching airmen how to shoot is as equally important as repair vehicles."

"I don't do that every day," Eelis mumbled.

"But you also repair weapons," Farkas pointed out. "Which is also essential to the war effort."

Eelis didn't really have anything to say to that and Farkas sighed. "My point is, Eelis, is that I have treated quite a few, a lot in fact, of people in my career. Men, women, soldiers, Marines, airmen, seamen. Everyone reacts to traumatizing events differently. Some people become alcoholics, others become workaholics. There is however, one consistent: not a single one of them wanted to admit they were suffering. A large part of the reason behind why people did what they did was because they just didn't want to have to face the things they had seen."

"Like me," Eelis said morosely.

"Or like Ishmael."

Eelis jerked his head up. "Really?"

"Well, I hesitate to comment on what goes on through Ishmael's mind, especially seeing as how I've never spoken to the man in either an official or unofficial capacity," Farkas admitted, "however I would wager that Ishmael is suffering just as badly as you. He just may be better at hiding it. You mentioned his rapid descent into anger? Extreme anger is sometimes a sign of post-traumatic stress. He could very well wish to talk to someone like you, only he just doesn't know how."

"You think?" Eelis asked, skeptically. "He's seemed pretty adamant about being alright."

"Try talking to him again," Farkas suggested. "He might be a bit more receptive this time."

Eelis was doubtful but, he supposed it couldn't hurt if he tried one more time. "Alright doc, I guess I'll try again."

* * *

"Running low on ammo here!" Nelson bellowed as he withdraw his rifle from the window to reload.

Eelis quickly took his place, shoving the M45 tactical shotgun he had found out the window and firing down the street. His rifle had been blasted right out of his hands but he had managed to salvage a shotgun and some shells from one of the Warthogs before it was blown up. Of course, a piece of shrapnel from the exploding Warthog had shattered the stock, making it next to impossible to fire the damn thing with any degree of accuracy, but given the amount of fire coming their way, he was blind firing it anyways, trying to at least suppress the advancing Covenant.

"Just hang on!" Hardtack encourage as Eelis emptied the tube magazine and moved out of the way to reload. Ishmael quickly took his place. "Air support is on the way! Just hang on!"

After Bellawood was killed, Sergeant Williams had taken command. However, evidently he wasn't aware Bellawood had already sent 1st Squad one direction to clear out a building, and he send what remained of 2nd and 3rd Squads in another direction to clear out a separate building. By the time he figured out he had accidently split the Flight in two, Covenant had pushed into the circle, cutting the unit off from each other. 1st Squad had attempted to push immediately to regroup with the rest of the Flight, but the Covenant had so far prevented that from happening.

Fortunately for them, Alpha Flight's radio operator had managed to make it into the same building they had with his radio intact, and Hardtack was able to get in contact with Squadron command and call in the gunship support that had been promised to them. However, with the Covenant so close to their positions, the gunships would be limited to gun runs only, limiting their effectiveness. And with their Flight separated as it was, even that was a dicey proposition as gunship cannons were designed for maximum spread, not pinpoint accuracy. Of course, Eelis and his friends had to survive until the gunships arrived.

"_Ripcord, this is Tie-dye, do you copy, over?"_Eelis heard someone say over the radio.

Hardtack grabbed the handset from the radio operator and pressed it against her ear. "Tie-dye, this is Ripcord. Need immediate air support! We are pinned down by heavy Covenant forces in the traffic circle. Our Flight has been cut in two, and there are fifty plus Covenant infantry in the middle of the circle keeping us separated! Requesting immediate gun runs on Covenant inside the circle!"

"_Okay Ripcord, take a deep breath and calm down. I'm seeing two groups of friendly IFFs, one in the west, one in the northeast. Is that you, over?"_

"Yeah, that's us!" Hardtack yelled into the microphone. "Everyone in the circle is a Covie!"

"_Roger that Ripcord. We are going hot. Guns, guns, guns!"_

Eelis had been at the window firing at an advancing Elite when the Elite and the ground below and surrounding the Elite simply disintegrated. A far seconds later, he heard the _**RATATATATA**_ of a heavy autocannon firing in the distance. Bending slightly at the knees, he looked up in the sky to see an Air Force SkyHawk strike fighter blazing away with all of its mounted cannons, shooting at any Covenant soldiers inside the circle.

"Wohoo!" Nelson cheered from over Eelis' head. "Get some motherfuckers!"

Armed with four 50mm autocannons and several anti-tank missiles for good measure, the Covenant caught out in the open were quickly shredded. Bodies, body parts, blood and gore were everywhere, covering the circle.

"_All targets in the circle destroyed,"_ the SkyHawk pilot reported with a hint of satistfaction. _"Covenant appear to be falling back, over."_

"Shit, roger that Tie-dye!" Hardtack said over the radio. Lowered it, she glanced at the squad. "Hey, with the Covenant falling back and with that SkyHawk in the air, now is a good time to regroup with Sergeant Williams and the rest of the Flight! Let me clear this with Tie-dye but get your weapons loaded and get ready to move!"

Without waiting for a response, Hardtack turned back to the radio. "Tie-dye, this is Ripcord. With the Covenant falling back, we're going to try and make a run across the circle, try to regroup the Flight. Can you cover us, over?"

"_Say again? Which group is going to which group, over?"_

"Uh…" With a start, Eelis realized no one quite knew where they were in the circle. Were they the northeast group or the east group?"

Fortunately someone else did.

"_Tie-dye, this is Ripcord Alpha-5,"_ the voice of Williams sounded over the radio. "_The east group is moving through the circle to join the northeast group. Can you provide cover, over?"_

"_Roger that Ripcord. We got you covered. You can move anytime you like."_

With a small sigh of relief, Hardtack handed the handset back to the radio operator. She glanced at the rest of the squad before hefting her rifle. "You guys ready? Let's go!"

Kicking down what remained of the front door, Hardtack dashed out into the street, Eelis close behind. Leaping over Covenant bodies and dashing through pools of blood, they ran through the circle. From one of the buildings on the other side, Eelis could see Sergeant Williams rising up, waving his arms frantically. Eelis turned slightly so he could run directly to the building Williams and the rest of the Flight were in.

"_Okay, I see a group of friendlies oh shit, Salmero break left now!"_

There was an explosion and Eelis looked up in time to see a green fuel rod rocket slam into the left duct fan of the SkyHawk. The engine exploded and the SkyHawk instantly began losing altitude as two bulbous Banshees, their purple colored hull gleaning in the sunlight, whip by overhead.

"Clear the street! Go go go!" Hardtack screamed and Eelis tucked in his head down and broke out in a dead sprint.

"Shit, they're coming around!" Eelis heard Nelson scream behind him. He heard a rifle roar to life but it was quickly drowned out the inhuman scream of the Banshees' engines. Then he heard a rocket launch.

A green rocket slammed into the ground right underneath Hardtack's feet, the superheated plasma essentially melting Hardtack like she was a wax figure left outside on a very hot day. The explosion also ripped a hole in the street, throwing debris all over the place.

Eelis felt his eyes widen as a piece of asphalt hurtled directly at him. He felt pain erupting from his forehead and his head whip back as the asphalt slammed into him.

Then everything went dark.

* * *

Eelis took a moment to adjust his beret as he stood outside the door to the motor pool Ishmael worked at. He decided to take Farkas' advice to try and talk to Ishmael again. This time though, Eelis decided to wait until it was closer to night time, when the motor pool would be empty. If Farkas was right and Ishmael would be willing to talk, Eelis didn't want an audience listening in to what he had to say. That was, of course, if Ishmael was even here. Eelis had asked around and it turned out that Ishmael had a habit of working late but today, no one had really seen Ishmael for the last couple of hours.

Figuring there was no point in delaying, Eelis pulled the door open and with as much confidence as he could muster, strolled in. He opened his mouth to forestall any of Ishmael's anger, only to close it with a click as he realized the motor pool was empty.

Feeling slight ridiculous, and a bit disappointed, Eelis looked around. Now what? This was the only place people had suggested Ishmael would be, but he was clearly not here. Eelis supposed he could wait here for Ishmael to show up but that seemed a bit creepy. Not only that, if Ishmael wasn't here now, it was probably doubtful he could come back. No, Eelis' best bet was to go back to his armory and come back at a later time. Yes, he should wait until he was sure Ishmael was here. No, he wasn't trying to procrastinate because he was nervous.

Eelis turned to leave but pause. The door leading to the small briefing room that Ishmael had pulled him into last time he'd been here was open slightly. Not sure why, Eelis decided to look inside see if Ishmael was there. He pushed open the door fully and froze. Ishmael were there. Sort of.

A thick piece of black cord had been tied off to the roof. Hanging from the other end of the cord, like a morbid lamp, was **Ishmael**. Ishmael's body was swaying slightly in air. A stool was lying on its side just under his feet. In one of the corners of the room, the shattered remains of a beer bottle was spread across the ground, as if it had been thrown there.

Eelis stood there, dumbly in the doorway, unsure of what to do.

"Excuse me, what are – what the fuck?"

Someone rushed passed him into the room and it took Eelis' shocked addled brain to realize it was the same woman he had seen the last time he was there. She dashed into the room and immediately grabbed Ishmael's legs, pushing him up and trying to relieve the pressure from his neck.

"Dammit Airman!" she spat. "Get a fucking medic in here!"

"We having a party in – what the shit?" an unknown man said from behind Eelis, stopping just behind him, staring at the scene in front of him.

"Toretto, don't just stand there! Make yourself useful and get a fucking medic!" the woman screamed at him.

"I'm on it, I'm on it!" the man, Toretto yelled before running out of the motor pool. He quickly returned with a number of other soldiers, one of which was wearing the insignia of a combat medic. Eelis moved into the room to allow them to work. They quickly cut Ishmael down, loaded the body on a stretcher they had brought with them, the medic checking Ishmael for a pulse. Eelis stepped aside as they exited the room. As he moved, his feet hit something on the ground. Eelis glanced down. It was a data pad. Scratched across the back cover was the name "Ishmael."

Without really thinking about it, Eelis picked it up. It was still logged in and at his touch, the screen reactivated. A document had been opened and a single message had been written. It said: "We're all dead. Why prolong the suffering?"

* * *

"So, you were the first one to find Ishmael's body. That's a pretty horrific discovery, for anybody. Would you like to talk about it?" Farkas asked him gently.

Eelis was silent.

"No," he finally said. "Not really."

"Okay then," Farkas said, nodding his head. "Well"

"Actually doc, I would like to talk about something else." Eelis looked at Farkas in the eye. "I'd like to talk about what happen with Nelson."

* * *

"Hey," Eelis chided. "Don't try to speak. Save your energy."

Nelson ignored him. Eelis watched as his mouth open once or twice before he gathered enough air to whisper something.

"End this," he whispered.

"I'm trying buddy," Eelis told him. "You just need to hang on, okay? Medics are on the way, they're going to fix you up, okay? You just need to hold on."

Nelson slowly shook his head but he was unable to speak. Instead, with his remaining hand, he made a gun with his fingers and pointed it at his head. It took Eelis several precious seconds to realize Nelson's meaning but he quickly started shaking his head vigorously.

"No," Eelis said emphatically, "I can't do that. Don't ask me to do that. You're okay Nelson, just hang on."

"Eelis," Nelson rasped out, his eyes full of pain. "Please."

"No," Eelis said again, shaking his head. "I can't."

"Please…" Nelson's voice was almost inaudible.

Eelis shook his head again and closed his eyes. He could feel tears pouring down his face. "I can't Pramod," he whispered. "I'm sorry."

A choking, raspy noise filled the air and Eelis opened his eyes in alarm. Nelson was laying on the ground with his eyes wide open, his face turning slightly blue. Eelis watched him, completely clueless what to do. Then Nelson went still and Eelis watched as his pupils dilate.

"Oh shit," Eelis swore. "Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit."

Removing Nelson's body armor as best as he could, Eelis shifted himself so that he could position his hands over Nelson's chest, he began applying chest compressions as best as he could, while trying to avoid accidently slipping his hands into the hole in Nelson's chest. Thirty pumps to the chest, and then two breaths into Nelson's mouth. He pressed two fingers against Nelson's neck, checking for a pulse. Nothing.

"Come on Nelson," Eelis pleaded as he continued to apply chest compressions. "You got to breath buddy." He forced another two breaths down Nelson's throat and checked again for a pulse. Still nothing.

"Breath dammit," Eelis yelled, pushing down on Nelson's chest. "Come on Nelson!"

"NELSON!"

* * *

Eelis woke with a jerk, breathing hard. He sat upright in his cot before planting his face into his hands. He was still dreaming. He had thought telling Farkas about how he had failed to grant his best friend's last wish would have ended the dreams but apparently that wasn't to be.

Eelis sighed loudly into his palms. He couldn't do this anymore. He just couldn't. There was one other option though.

Shedding his blanket, Eelis climbed out of his cot and headed to his foot locker. Popping it open, he dug around inside it until he found the familiar cherry oak wood box and pulled it out. He stared at it with silent contemplation before opening it. Inside was something that was something that was against Air Force regulations and if his commanders knew he had it, he'd probably be arrested. Or committed. Which is why he never showed it to anyone.

Inside was a Glock 19 handgun, and a single round of 9x19mm Parabellum. The 9mm round had, at one point, been the most popular handgun round until it had been replaced in popularity by other rounds. This gun however, had been his grandfathers. Incidentally, it was also the very weapon his grandfather had used to commit suicide with.

Eelis stared at the familiar firearm before impulsively pulling it out of its case. Locking the slide back, Eelis removed the round from the box and inserted it directly into the chamber. He pushed the slide release, the pistol slide locking closed. Closing his eyes, he slowly raised the pistol and pressed it against the side of his head. It would be so easy. All it took was a two and a half kilograms of pressure on the trigger and it would be over. No pain, no fuss. It would be so easy.

And yet, he hesitated. Pramod Nelson was his best friend. No, he was more than that. Pramod Nelson had been his brother. And yet, Eelis didn't have what it took to grant his brother's last wish. To end his brother's suffering. How could he justifiably end his own?

With a sigh, Eelis ejected the round and placed both objects back into the box, tossing the box back into his foot locker. Then he headed for the armory. Eelis would stay strong; suffer through what he had to. But one day this war against the Covenant would end. He could only hope that one day, he'll stop dreaming.


End file.
